Lord of the Abominations
by Ranuccio
Summary: As Aragorn expresses his dominance and power, the Ring beings losing its charm on Boromir. -Rated for M/M Slash between Aragorn/Boromir and for Violent S&M-
1. Chapter 1

_ "Aragorn!" _

Frodo's voice pierced the soft quiet of night. Aragorn awoke with a wild thrashing of arms and steel. He sat up and stared into the darkness with wide eyes. Legolas and Gimli both sat up and listened, giving each other side glances. Sam and the other hobbits snored gently, that is, until Frodo cried out once more.

Aragorn jumped to his feet and Legolas followed suit. Legolas pointed into the woods. Sam, Merry, and Pippin flinched and grabbed onto each other like frightened rabbits.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam forced out, pushing Pippin off of him.

"Stay with them," Aragorn told Gimli, who hadn't tried to get up. He noticed with bitterness that Boromir was also missing.

Quickly, Legolas and Aragorn vanished into the woods.

...

Boromir had managed to take the Ring from Frodo while he slept. He contemplated many things to do with the Ring. Keep it, take it to his father, put it on, give it back to Frodo...

He ended up merely sitting in a small clearing in the woods, stroking it lightly in the palm of his hand. His eyes glowed with a sickly delight. He couldn't hear the crunching of sticks and leaves as Frodo tracked him down, so lost was he in his swirling decent into madness.

Frodo came into the clearing and glared at Boromir. Hatred rose up inside of him. His hand gripped into his sword's hilt, and he drew it a moment later.

Boromir gasped and looked up. He shut his mouth and swallowed. "F-Frodo," he said, forcing a pleasant tone. "I..." His eyes fell to the Ring in his hand. He closed his hand into a fist and looked back at Frodo with a faltering expression. "I didn't mean to-"

"Give it to me," Frodo demanded, walking up to Boromir, his sword up and threatening.

Boromir stood up hastily, slipping briefly on the leaves. He backed away from Frodo, raising his hands defensively. "Careful, Frodo," Boromir warned. "Tis not a gardening tool you carry."

Frodo narrowed his eyes and pointed the blade at Boromir's neck. "I know what it is. Give me the Ring."

Boromir stared at him with uncertainty, before a sly smile crept across his lips.

"I don't have it," Boromir said regrettably. He raised his hands. "See?" He opened his fist and the Ring dropped out. As quick as lightning, Boromir struck out his hand perfectly and the Ring slid onto his middle finger.

Frodo screamed "No!" and tried to stop him, but it was too late. Boromir vanished.

"Aragorn!" He shrieked desperately. He swung out helplessly with his sword, cutting into nothing but air.

Suddenly Boromir rammed into Frodo's back, knocking him to the ground. Frodo yelped in pain as he landed on his sword, which gashed open his left arm.

"Frodo!" Aragorn's voice called.

Frodo struggled against the pain and clasped his arm against his chest. "Aragorn, Help! He took the Ring! He put it on!" He wailed.

Aragorn came into the clearing with Legolas right beside him.

"Where?" Aragorn asked shortly.

"He was right there, but he disappeared when he put the Ring on," Frodo told him, wincing as he pointed to where Boromir had been.

"Tend to him," Aragorn said in a low voice to Legolas. Legolas nodded and went to Frodo, picking him up easily like a child. Frodo gritted his teeth and moaned. Legolas jogged back to the camp.

Aragorn tossed his sword into his right hand.

"Boromir!" He called. He held his breath, listening for footsteps.

Suddenly he heard much more than that.

Boromir appeared a few yards away, jerking the Ring from his finger and collapsing against a tree. He leaned there, gasping and blinking rapidly, his fingers digging into the bark of the tree.

Aragorn scowled and went at him.

Boromir raised his head just in time to see Aragorn reaching for him. Aragorn grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward before slamming his back against the tree.

"Where is the Ring?" Aragorn snarled hatefully.

Boromir gazed at Aragorn with calm, sad eyes. He sighed and took the Ring from his pocket. He offered it to Aragorn with a shaking hand, who snatched it and put it in his own pocket.

"I'm sorry,"Boromir whimpered. "It's like my mind was not my own. I couldn't control myself. I'm so sorr-"

Aragorn punched him in the mouth. Boromir's head bashed back into the tree.

"Shut it," he hissed, pressing his blade against Boromir's throat. "If I ever see you within ten feet of Frodo, I swear by the kings of Gondor, you won't have hands to steal with anymore!"

Boromir raised his eyes. "As you wish, my Lord." He said evenly.

Aragorn's eyes burned with anger. He pushed the sword steadily until a line of blood appeared along Boromir's neck.

Boromir held still, his eyes hard, yet moist.

Suddenly Aragorn turned away, sheathing his sword. He walked back to the camp leaving Boromir alone.

...

The next morning, Frodo completely ignored Boromir. Sam stayed right at his side like a puppy, giving Boromir venomous looks and rude gestures. Merry and Pippin kept mostly to themselves, watching everyone with their eyes and whispering behind dirty hands. Legolas kept his attention on Frodo, taking care that his wound remained clean and well-bandaged. Aragorn paced with his hand on his hilt whenever he went past Frodo or Boromir, his eyes narrow slits. Gimli felt the tension and stood silently, his axe planted in the ground beside him like a flag pole, holding onto it solemnly like a statue.

"I'm hungr- Ow!" Pippin flinched and glared at Merry, who had elbowed him.

Aragorn glanced at them. "We'll head out soon," he said. "Maybe catch a rabbit or two."

"All right," Pippin grinned. Merry rolled his eyes.

"How is your arm, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked for the hundreth time.

Frodo nodded. "Better." He gave Legolas a grateful smile.

Sam sighed as if a heavy weight had been taken from him. "Good, good," he said agreeably.

Boromir stared into the woods, letting his mind drift away into emptiness to help keep him from thinking of the Ring... and what it made him do.


	2. Chapter 2

They traveled through the woods and a few hours later they made it to a valley. The trees thinned away and the land spread out before them in rolling waves of lush green grass. The sun was heading to the top of the sky, massive, orange, and blindingly bright. The sky was void of all clouds; peaceful and pale blue.

Boromir lagged behind, one hand constantly rubbing his face. Legolas stayed in between him and Frodo, who was also surrounded by Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Gimli walked heavily beside the Hobbits. Aragorn led the way into the fields.

Though Boromir had spoken not a word all morning, his thoughts were plagued with the dastardly vision he had seen when he had put on the Ring. Flashes of war and death, splatters of fire and blood. The Great Eye staring at him from every direction, burning its way into his very soul. His body trembled and his eyes blurred as he stared off into the distance, seeing past the mountains and trees, seeing only Mount Doom.

Frodo was wary of Boromir, and he tried to avoid looking at him, but his nerves got the better of him. Frodo glanced over his shoulder and the blood froze in his veins.

Boromir felt the Ring staring at him. He looked up and gazed at Frodo with a deep, jealous intincity. The Ring was so close... Just a few feet away... Boromir's fingers twitched and he swallowed a mouthful of saliva. His heart sped up and faltered. His hand slipped down silently to his sword hilt. It would only take one slice...

"Boromir," Aragorn called sharply, staring at Boromir.

Everyone had stopped moving. Gimli and Legolas stood on either side of Frodo, their hands on their weapons. Sam stood in front of Frodo, pushing him lightly to keep him away from Boromir. Merry and Pippin had their short swords drawn, but they hung from their hands as uselessly as empty sleeves. Aragorn had his sword drawn, his eyes cold and dark as he walked over to Boromir

Boromir noticed none of this. Just a quick slice and it will be mine, he thought.

He drew his sword and ran at Frodo.

Aragorn appeared in front of him, blocking the sword and shoving him backwards. Boromir stumbled but didn't fall. He growled and raise his sword.

Aragorn aimed for Boromir's chest.

Boromir came at him, battering the sword away and elbowing him in the side. Aragorn swung out and bashed Boromir in the shoulder with his hilt. Boromir was knocked off balance. He sprawled in the grass by Gimli's feet. Gimli glanced awkwardly at Aragorn before raising his axe, preparing to chop into Boromir.

Boromir saw Gimli and sat up on his knees, grabbing the axe's handle. He quickly snapped his sword forward, aiming for Gimli's stomach.

Legolas shot an arrow and it struck into Boromir's wrist, causing him to sling his arm away right before his blade could pierce the Dwarf.

Boromir's sword flew from his fingertips and thudded dully against a rock.

Boromir stared at his wrist, seeing the arrow sticking out of it, seeing the blood running out from his armor, but feeling nothing.

Gimli raised his axe once more. Boromir merely stared at his hand.

"Stop!" Aragorn commanded.

Boromir looked up to see Gimli's axe inches from his head. He blinked then crawled backwards away from him before standing up shakily. He stood clutching at his wrist, unsure what to do about the arrow.

"What's your problem?" Sam shouted.

Aragorn waved his hand to silence him.

Boromir darted his eyes at Sam before resting them on Aragorn.

Aragorn walked up to him, his sword still drawn. Boromir hung his head in shame, his hands shaking and dripping with blood.

Aragorn grabbed him by the wrist, right above the arrow.

Boromir sucked in his breath and gazed into Aragorn's eyes quietly.

"Do you still wonder why I have no faith in your people, son of Gondor?" Aragorn hissed in his ears.

Boromir shivered. "I-"

Aragorn twisted his wrist and shoved him down. "Don't speak!" He interupted harshly.

Boromir straightened up and sat on his knees.

The Hobbits watched with wide eyes. Legolas fingered his bow. Gimli licked his thumb and wiped at a smudge on his axe's blade.

"Are you simply unable to control yourself?" Aragorn asked Boromir bitterly.

"He'll do it again!" Sam cried out. "We can't trust him!"

"Yeah! We gotta get rid of him!" Pippin put in.

Aragorn looked down at Boromir, who looked away. Aragorn sighed.

"Kill him, Strider!" Samwise punched his fist into the palm of his hand.

Boromir stared up at Aragorn.

Aragorn shook his head and held his sword at Boromir's throat.

"If you attempt to harm anyone in this Fellowship again, if you attempt to take the Ring from Frodo one more time..." Aragorn began. He glanced at the others. Their expressions were hard and hateful. "I will kill you." He finished.

Boromir looked past Aragorn and glanced at Frodo before raising his eyes back to Aragorn.

"I would expect nothing less," Boromir replied solemnly.

Aragorn scowled and turned away, sheathing his sword.

The Hobbits moved on, following Aragorn across the valley. Gimli and Legolas stayed right behind the Hobbits, constantly checking behind them to glare suspiciously at Boromir.

Boromir sat still for a minute before pulling the arrow from his wrist and bandaging it roughly. He stood and found his sword amongst the grass and jogged to catch up to the others.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening the eight members of the Fellowship made camp on a low hill in the valley. There were no trees around, and no other forms of coverage, so they could not make a fire for fear of attracting Orcs.

The Hobbits laid in a line beside each other, huddling for warmth underneath Elvish blankets and cloaks. Gimli had boldly stated that he would stay up all night, but a few minutes after his statement, his head hung down to his chest and he snored groggily from where he sat. Legolas and Aragorn remained awake to take turns keeping watch. Boromir didn't even try to rest.

Whether his eyes were open or shut to the dark sky around them, he still could see the ripples of fire and despair in his mind. The Great Eye never seemed to turn away from him. Boromir laid on his side across from the Hobbits, staring through the night at the golden Ring hidden amongst Frodo's garments.

As his thoughts whispered to him how to take the Ring, how to slit Gimli's throat, how to stab his knife into Aragorn's chest, how to shove an arrow through Legolas' eye, Boromir's muscles twitched and flexed as they mentally tried out his plan.

Aragorn patted Legolas on the back, telling him softly that he would take the first watch. Legolas nodded shortly and went to his little pile of blankets to lay down.

Boromir's hand balled into a fist, then quickly re-opened. He winced in pain and gently rubbed his wrist with his other hand, tenderly feeling the bandage which covered up the arrow's wound. He sighed and closed his eyes. It would have been easy, Boromir thought.

Aragorn stood watching and listening for any signs of Orcs, yet out of the corner of his eye, he watched Boromir. The son of a mad-man. The traitor of Gondor.

...

The next day went by rather smoothly, apart from the Hobbits moaning about how hungry they were, how sick of lembas bread they were, and how tired they were. Gimli kept muttering into his beard how they never should have let a second Man into the Fellowship, how Men were always fighting amongst each other just to have some excitement. Legolas stayed by Aragorn's side, always alert. Boromir no longer lagged behind, but he still stayed in the back of the group.

They found a small town run by scavenger men. Their men were few, but they were tough. They had beards and hair as long as their arms. Their muscles stuck out like those of a horse. Thier women were pig-like creatures with short hair and swollen bellies, their children hunkered around them like scrawny kid goats. They eyed the Fellowship with greedy eyes, a few of the fearlessly stupid ones reaching out to touch Boromir's armor and stroke Legolas' bow.

Aragorn announced to the town's leader that they were mere travelers, needing food and a place to stay. The town's leader, a man named Gurflow, pointed to a run-down house and said they could sleep there. Aragorn thanked them, and the Fellowship went inside.

The place was small, but warm. A fireplace glowed with dying embers. Legolas went to it and began adding more wood, which sat beside the fireplace.

"Hah!" Gimli snorted. "This place isn't fit to hang my axe in!"

"Be grateful, Dwarf," Legolas said calmly as he stoked the fire.

"Grate-?" Gimli snarled. "I'll show you grateful!" He hefted his axe and took a stop towards Legolas.

"Enough," Aragorn said. "He's right. If it weren't for these people, we would be sleeping out in the open again."

Gimli huffed and sat down in a chair by a table.

Sam pratically pulled Frodo to the fire. "Come on Mr Frodo," he urged. "Let's get you warm!"

Merry and Pippin went to the fire and stood rubbing their hands together, their eyes glowing in the rising light.

A knock on the door sounded, and, since Boromir was still standing by the door, he opened it.

"Yes?" He asked.

Two women stood holding buckets. One woman held two buckets of water, the other woman had one bucket of fruit and another bucket of roast duck.

Boromir took the buckets of water and carried them to the table. Gimli rushed over and snagged the bucket of meat while Aragorn frowned at him and took the bucket of fruit.

"Thank you," he bowed his head politely to the women, who merely stared at him before slamming the door in his face.

"These outcasts don't deserve manners," Boromir chided lightly, dipping his cupped hands into a bucket of water. He splashed the water over his face and shook his hair like a dog.

Frodo watched him with disgusted eyes.

Aragorn said nothing, walking out of the room into the only other room there was. A few moments later, he returned. "There's just four beds," he said.

The Hobbits looked at each other.

"I don't mind sleeping in a chair," Legolas said. "And we all know the Dwarf can sleep where ever he falls."

Merry poked his head into the bedroom. "Ah, we Hobbits can double-up!" He said cheerfully. "No sweat, right, Pip?"

Pippin shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me," he said as he chewed on a duck leg.

"Hey, where'd you get that?" Merry demanded.

Pippin pointed to Gimli, who held the bucket between his legs as he sat in the chair at the table. Merry ran over and begged for food. Gimli gave him a wing. Merry sat on the floor by the fire and chewed away. Pippin sat down beside him.

"You don't mind, do you, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked quietly. "I mean, if you don't want to sleep with me, you can take the bed and I'll sleep in the floor somewheres..."

"It's fine, Sam," Frodo said shortly.

"Goodnight, gentlemen," Aragorn said suddenly.

Everyone looked up at him.

"Shouldn't we keep watch?" Legolas asked.

"I feel like we can trust these people," Aragorn said easily. "But, if you feel otherwise, feel free to stay up and guard the place."

Legolas fell silent. He took a pear out of the fruit bucket and picked at the brown spots on its skin.

Aragorn headed to the bedroom.

Merry and Pippin suddenly dashed into the bedroom in front of Aragorn and claimed "the best" bed. Frodo and Sam followed them slowly and took the bed closest to the door.

Aragorn paused in the doorway, watching the Hobbits snuggle under the covers for a second, before looking back over his shoulder. There was his bed left, and one other bed.

Legolas chewed on a pear, sitting down across from Gimli, who gnawed on nearly a whole duck. Boromir stood with his arms folded staring quietly into the fire.

"Boromir," Aragorn said firmly.

Boromir turned to look at him.

"Come on," Aragorn ordered, then went in the bedroom.

Boromir stared after him for a moment before wordlessly obeying.


	4. Chapter 4

Aragorn slept with one eye open that night. He watched Boromir, studying his dark figure, seeing the shadows move as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Aragorn told himself he was protecting Frodo by lying there, staring at Boromir as he slept, that it was necessary for him to do so.

Boromir seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but in his sleep he suffered the worst of all his nightmares.

His father, Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, and his brother, Faramir, the bravest of all warriors, cowered helplessly before him. Boromir had the Ring on his finger, and he held his hand high for all to see. The White Tree of Gondor burned behind him with black fire. The Eye of Sauron blurred and focused in the background, drawing nearer and nearer. The closer the Eye got, the hotter Boromir got, until at last he burst into flames. Yet, even on fire, Boromir raised his head to the blackening sky and laughed hysterically.

He awoke with a start deep into the night. He sat up, kicking the blankets off of himself, drenched with sweat. He sat breathing deeply, slowly, until his heart stopped racing. He sighed and pushed the hair from his eyes, then suddenly he noticed Frodo.

Frodo lay on his side, facing Boromir. He was fast asleep. The covers had slipped down to his legs. The Ring hung out of his shirt and the chain curled around the Ring which sat broodingly on the edge of the mattress.

Boromir's eyes darted around the room. Aragorn, Frodo, everyone was sleeping. He held his breath and strained his ears. Yes, even the Dwarf was asleep, snoring loud enough to drown out any other sound. He wondered vaguely about the Elf, but quickly tossed it aside.

Now was his chance.

His feet pressed firmly into the cold stone floor and he slowly pushed himself off the bed and stood up. The Ring glittered attractively, tauntingly. Boromir took a small step towards Frodo's bed, his breathing shallow.

The Ring whispered his name, beckoning him, calling him.

Boromir reached out a shaking hand, his heart skipping beats. His fingers paused inches away from the cold golden Ring. He felt the warm moisture of Frodo's breath against his hand. He heard the soft hissing of air as he breathed gently, obliviously.

Why do I need this? Boromir asked himself. He stared down at the Ring, then lowered his hand down to his side.

I don't, he decided. Like a whore, not every one is worth taking. He smiled slyly at his own joke and turned back to his bed. He got under his covers as quietly as possible, though he was still quite sweaty from his nightmare. He stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes before smiling triumphantly to himself and closing his eyes.

Aragorn very carefully sheathed his dagger, the one he had been planning to plunge into Boromir's heart if he had dared to touch the Ring. His dark eyes softened somewhat in the stillness that followed, and he finally allowed himself to sleep.

...

At dawn, the men of the town pounded fists into the front door until everyone woke up. Aragorn curtly thanked them for their hospitality, then he drug the Hobbits out of bed and shuffled everyone out the door. The men watched the Fellowship leave with wide, wary eyes.

Boromir was in good spirits, though he didn't show it much. He walked with dignity now, instead of just with duty.

He ruffled Sam's hair as he went by, grinning playfully at Sam's revolted scowl. Merry and Pippin pushed and shoved one another as they went down the road, arguing about who stole the covers more last night. Boromir snuck up behind them and suddenly pushed Pippin to the ground.

"How do you like it?" Boromir chuckled.

Merry's first instict was to draw his sword. "Back off, you- You!" He snapped, standing in front of Pippin.

Boromir's smile fell. He raised his arms defenselessly. "Sorry," he sighed and walked on.

Merry helpled Pippin up and together they stared daggars at Boromir's back. Legolas noticed the change in atmosphere. He went to Aragorn and whispered to him.

"Something's different with Boromir," he told him.

Aragorn nodded shortly but said nothing.

...

A few hours later, they came to a small stream in a thicket of trees. Aragorn suggested they take a quick break there.

The Hobbits went to the water and drank and splashed each other. Except Frodo. He stood at the water's edge watching with a detatched expression. Legolas and Gimli ignored one another and picked at their weapons. Aragorn stared at Boromir. Boromir felt his stare and looked at him, but quickly looked away. When Boromir looked at him again, Aragorn gestured for him to come to him.

Boromir glanced around before walking up to Aragorn questioningly.

"I saw you last night," Aragorn said harshly.

Boromir paled. "Pardon?"

"You tried to take the Ring. You remember what I said I would do?" Aragorn asked in a low, threatening voice. Aragorn fingered his sword hilt.

Boromir's eyes widened. "I did not take it!" He cried. "I thought about it, but-" He hesitated as he struggled to find the right words. He looked up at Aragorn with sparkling eyes. "The Ring no longer holds sway over me!" Boromir told him positively.

"What?" Aragorn asked tonelessly.

"The Ring, I..." Boromir swallowed. "I no longer desire it." His eyes flickered towards Frodo. Aragorn followed his eyes.

"Frodo," Aragorn called.

Frodo looked at him. Sam stood up from the water and stared, ignoring Pippin as he tossed a minnow at his face.

"Come here," Aragorn said.

Frodo came over, feeling safe near Aragorn despite Boromir's close proximity.

Boromir gazed at Frodo, but was ignored.

"Frodo, give me the Ring," Aragorn commanded.

Frodo jerked as if pinched. He frowned at Aragorn, his hand rising up to grab the chain around his neck protectively.

"Why?" Frodo asked slowly.

Everyone was staring now, as quiet and still as death.

"Trust me," Aragorn told him gently, his eyes soft and smiling.

Frodo searched his face for a moment before taking the Ring from around his neck. He held out the chain to Aragorn, looking down and away.

Aragorn took it. Frodo exhailed heavily, his shoulders slumping. Aragorn peered at him for a moment before turning to Boromir, who watched him with a puzzled expression.

Aragorn opened his hand and held the Ring out to Boromir. Boromir took a step back, his eyes flicking from the Ring to Aragorn.

"This is the Ring of Power, Boromir," Aragorn said cooly.

A rabbit-like expression ghosted over his face. Boromir stared at him. "And?"

"And nothing. Don't you want it?" Aragorn asked casually, jingling the chain a bit in his hand.

Boromir swallowed, staring at the Ring. The Ring screamed his name, crying out like a baby calling for his father. It pulled him from all sides. Yes, yes, yes, the Ring cooed. Take me... and I will be yours.

His hands trembled at his sides. "I..."

"Take it, before it's too late," Aragorn burst out.

"Arago-" Legolas began, but Aragorn snapped at him.

"Shh!"

"I can't, you-"

"Don't think. You want to save Gondor, don't you? Protect your family and your people? Use the enemy's weapon against the enemy himself?" Aragorn droned on.

"No!" Boromir cried, turning away. "I-"

"Take it!" Aragorn yelled, shoving the Ring at Boromir's face.

Boromir's eyes widened with a sick kind of joy. He snatched the Ring from Aragorn and played with the heavy gold, feeling it grow warm in his hands. He stroked it lightly, his body trembling with lust and regret. His eyes whelled with tears refusing to fall. His fingertips played around the rim, longing to slide on the Ring.

Suddenly the Ring was jerked from his hands.

Frodo quickly put it back around his neck, glaring at Boromir with utter loathing. Sam stood beside Frodo, his sword drawn.

Boromir blinked, unsure of what just happened. He looked to Aragorn for guidance.

Aragorn shook his head, disappointed. He drew his sword, slowly and dramatically.

"Boromir," he said darkly, pointing the sword at his neck. "You remember my vow."

Boromir's eyes glistened as he stared at the steel blade. His eyes travelled up to Aragorn's eyes where he gazed with disbelief.


	5. Chapter 5

_"No fair! _You tempted him!" Merry shouted.

"The Man made his choice!" Aragorn retorted.

Boromir's eyes hardened. "You would execute me over this?" He asked bitterly.

Aragorn leaned close. "It may seem like nothing to you," he hissed in his ear. "But you merely proved to me that you are unable to control your impulses."

Aragorn's eyes swept over the Fellowship. Everyone seemed to agree with him, except Merry, who was shaking his head.

"It was your fault, Strider. You made him do it!" Merry spat.

"Come, Boromir." Aragorn turned and walked into the woods.

Boromir hesitated.

"Give him another chance!" Merry cried, then, when he noticed Boromir's hesitation, he added: "Don't go, Boromir!"

Boromir turned to the Hobbits, his eyes grey and sad. He smiled at them in turn.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," he said gently. Frodo avoided his gaze.

Boromir stood up straight and boldly followed Aragorn into the woods.

...

They walked in silence, the only sounds were the chinking of armor and the crunching of leaves.

After a few minutes, once Aragorn was sure they were far enough out of ear-shot, he stopped walking and turned around. He raised his sword.

Boromir stopped short, his heart beating like mad.

Aragorn stepped closer and held the sword at Boromir's neck.

Boromir's lips trembled and he dropped down to his knees. He sat up tall on his knees, holding his head high.

"Will you tell my father I died in combat?" Boromir asked softly. "I would rather him not know of my... betrayal." He raised his eyes and stared up into Aragorn's.

Aragorn kept his face emotionless. He lowered the sword down to Boromir's neck, laying it lightly against his shoulder.

"I will tell him what you are," Aragorn said wickedly. "The truth of your treason."

Boromir closed his eyes. A small stream of tears ran down his cheek. "Aye. I suppose it's better that way," he forced out calmly.

"Die well, Boromir, son of Denethor," Aragorn said finally, swinging back his sword.

"You would have been a great king, Aragorn..." Boromir whispered shakily.

Aragorn paused. He stared down at Boromir, the strong-willed man who sat bravely on his knees, ready and waiting to die. Respecting him with his final words...

Thw sword slipped from his fingertips, thudding into the ground.

Boromir flinched and opened his eyes to see Aragorn kneeling in front of him.

They gazed into one another's eyes.

"How could I kill a man whose loyalty lies with the King of Gondor?" Aragorn asked.

Boromir wrinkled his forehead, confused. "I... I don't unders-"

Aragorn clasped his hands on Boromir's cheeks, pulled his face to his, and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

Boromir's reaction was not what Aragorn expected, though he wasn't sure what he had expected in the first place.

Boromir slapped his hands on Aragorn's shoulders and shoved him away, sending both of them thudding onto their backs.

Aragorn sat up slowly and Boromir scrambled to his feet.

Boromir stood trembling, his eyes wide, his mouth open as it sucked rapid breaths. "I'm sorry, I..." He rushed out, but quickly the words clogged in his throat. All he could do was stare, as if he didn't know if what just happened was on accident or on purpose.

Aragorn stood, taking his sword from the dirt and sheathing it.

Boromir watched him warily with his eyes.

"You said before the Ring no longer held sway over you," Aragorn said almost menancingly.

Boromir's shoulders slumped.

"I thought perhaps something else did..." Aragorn shrugged absently and turned away.

"W-wait!" Boromir reached out to him, taking his sleeve.

Aragorn turned to him. Boromir's stone-like eyes grew fierce, then, quite suddenly, his eyes melted into sweet passion. He pushed his bandaged hand up Aragorn's sleeve, feeling the warmth and strength of his arm.

Aragorn stared at Boromir, feeling his skin tingling at his soft touch.

Boromir took his hand from Aragorn's sleeve and placed it against Aragorn's chest, on top of his leather vest.

He swallowed visably before raising his eyes to meet Aragorn's.

"You gave me my life," he said resolutely. "All that I am now belongs to you."

Aragorn smiled thinly at Boromir's determination.

"So be it," he said in a kingly voice. He took Boromir's hand off his chest and kissed the grimy bandaging. "Let's go back to the others, shall we?" He grinned at Boromir before dropping his expression into neutrality and marching back out of the woods.

Boromir blinked in surprise, yet the warmth of gratitude rose up inside of him as he followed his King back to the Fellowship.

...

Everyone watched with perplexity as Aragorn came back to the stream, followed by Boromir.

Merry let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Weren't you supposed to kill him?" Pippin asked.

"I had a change of heart," Aragorn announced. "Boromir has assured me that he will never try to steal the Ring again, and I believe him."

Gimli huffed.

Legolas nodded shortly, trusting Aragorn's judgement.

"Shall we move on, then?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn looked to the skies. "Yes, we should. Everyone, get a drink and let's go."

Sam and Frodo squinted their eyes suspiciously at Boromir as he went to the stream for some water.

"I still don't trust the feller," Sam muttered.

"Then trust Aragorn," Frodo told Sam automatically.

Aragorn stood with his hands on his hips, watching over everyone like a shepherd watching over his flock of dumb sheep.

Boromir raised his wet face from the stream and gazed at Aragorn with utter respect. Aragorn inclined his head towards Boromir, a smile playing about his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**A** day went by before the tension in the air began to loosen. Frodo noticed the subtle change in Boromir and Aragorn's relationship, and, though he was not sure what it was, he knew it was a good change.

Aragorn led the way across a wide stream, carrying Frodo on his back. Legolas held Sam, and Boromir had Merry and Pippin on each other his shoulders, playfully threatening to dump them into the water. They squealed with protest, laughing and grabbing fistfuls of Boromir's hair as they tried to hold on.

Aragorn watched him with a warm, melty feeling in his stomach. The way Boromir held the Hobbits was that like a father carrying his sons. A swelling of pride flooded over him as Aragorn attributed Boromir's mood to Aragorn's dark kiss. Suddenly Aragorn slipped on a slimy rock and pitched forward, and both him and Frodo splashed face-down into the water. Frodo flailed around as silently as a fish on a dock, reaching for Aragorn. Aragorn stood up, coughing, and quickly pulled Frodo back into his arms. As Frodo reajusted himself, Aragorn shook his head like a dog. He spat out a mouthful of greasy water and flinched to see Boromir standing right beside him.

"Are you all right?" He asked seriously, his grey eyes pools of concern.

Aragorn looked him over.

Boromir was drenched and his armor was hanging off of him at odd angles. His wet hair was matted in clumps and dirty with leaves and debris. His strong arms reached over his head to hold up Merry and Pippin, each of them sitting on one of his shoulders. Pippin had his hands wrapped around Boromir's neck so as not to fall into the water, and Merry had his hands buried in deep Boromir's hair, clinging tightly for support.

Aragorn smiled slowly. The seriousness of Boromir's face and the comicalness of his appearance was too much for him. He turned away from Boromir and began to laugh, walking on across the stream.

The Hobbits looked at each other with odd expressions. Legolas smiled, feeling somewhat high from all the sudden mood swings. Gimli shuffled by gruffily, holding his axe above his head, the water rushing around his neck and pulling at his beard. Boromir blushed and ducked his head to hide it, surging across the waters after his leader.

...

That night they found a cave to sleep in. It was only about four-hundred feet deep and one-hundred feet wide, but it was out of the wind and safe from any Orcs.

Aragorn lit a fire at the mouth of the cave and they ate fish from the stream and lembas bread from their packs. They ate in silence, but the mood was light and cheery, though tired from the day's travels.

As the food supply became exhausted, the Hobbits began to nod off. They unrolled their blankets and layed together on the cool dirt floor of the cave. Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli remained at the fire.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, hearing nothing but the soft breathing of the Hobbits and the low crackle of the fire, Gimli took a large swig of water from a flask and suddenly belched. Boromir flinched despite himself as the repulsive sound echoed briefly in the cave. Pippin sat up, his eyes wide and black, looked around, then flopped back down on his side.

Gimli made a show of himself as he shuffled to his feet. He wiped his dripping beard with his chain-mailed sleeve and moved away to the back of the cave, where he made himself a bed out of blown-in leaves and blankets.

Boromir took a stick from the cave floor and began prodding the fire, watching the tiny sparks fly up and crumble to dust in the air.

Aragorn rose to his feet, and Legolas and Boromir followed him with their eyes.

"Legolas, keep watch for a moment. Boromir and I are going for a walk," he said authoritively, taking a bag with blankets and extra provisions and slinging it over his shoulder.

Legolas nodded, watching Boromir as he stood up as well.

Aragorn walked out of the warm fire's light and into the cold dark night. Boromir didn't look back. He followed Aragorn without question.

They walked for some time, moving further and further away from the cave. Boromir felt a bit of apprehension about leaving everyone while they slept, but he knew better than to question Aragorn.

They came to a small clearing hidden in a patch of trees. A scattering of boulders cracked by age and weather littered the clearing. The full moon shined down brightly, illuminating the clearing with a pale, fragile light.

Feeling awkard and shy, Boromir paused at the edge of the woods, watching as Aragorn took off his pack and shook out the blankets. Aragorn tossed the bag next to a rock and turned to Boromir with an expression he did not recognize.

Boromir unconsicously took a step back, his heart fluttering as Aragorn walked over to him. Boromir's back bumped lightly into the tree behind him, and his body went stiff. He couldn't swallow, and his vision seemed hazy. Aragorn materialized in front of him.

"Boromir," Aragorn said in a low voice.

Boromir mouthed "yes?" but the sound would not come. He grasped onto the tree to keep himself from shaking, the bark grinding up into his fingernails. Why am I so nervous? He wondered.

Aragorn seized him by the hair and pulled Boromir right in front of his face. Their eyes locked, Aragorn's deep brown and angry, and Boromir's glistening with fear like melted silver.

Aragorn jerked him even closer and held his lips inches away from Boromir's ear. "Kiss me," Aragorn whispered.

Boromir tried feebly to back away, but when Aragorn would not let go of his hair, Boromir relented. He breathed in the scent of Aragorn; the raw sweat and iron, the dirty warmth that flowed around his body in a tantalizing fog. Boromir raised his hand and gently placed it against Aragorn's cheek.

Aragorn tensed up, having expected something more violent. He cut his eyes to watch Boromir, his hands still clinched in his hair, as Boromir stepped up closer to him. Boromir pressed his chest into Aragorn's, wrapping his other arm around his back. Boromir tilted Aragorn's face towards his, gazing mournfully into his eyes, and kissed him tenderly on the lips.


	8. Chapter 8

Borormir let Aragorn lead him to the heap of blankets. Aragorn tore away Boromir's armor and chain-mail, tossing them aside. With his chest exposed to the chilly night, Boromir trembled and felt anxious, even more so as Aragorn reached around him to unbuckle his sword-belt.

"Aragorn, I-"

"Shh," Aragorn interupted with a hiss. "Don't speak." He jerked the platelegs off of Boromir, tearing the leather strings and scratching the steel as he threw all his armor in a pile.

Boromir's legs wavered unsteadily, dizziness washing over him. A chill ran down his spine, but not from the cold. He saw the fierce look in Aragorn's eyes, the angry resolution that clung to his expression, and it made him nauseas.

Suddenly Aragorn grabbed Boromir's pants and pulled them down to his ankles, then pulled him forward, forcing him to step out of them. The thick black hair on his legs crawled up to his thighs, disappearing under the edges of his last garment; his underwear.

Boromir gave Aragorn a withering look, but Aragorn ignored him, seizing him by the hairs on his chest and twisting him around, then pushing him violently down to the blankets.

Sitting up, Boromir pleaded one last time. "Please, Aragorn, I-" But Aragorn struck him across the face, silencing him.

Aragorn removed his breastplate and shirt in a calm, smooth motion, flinging the hair from his face as he set the armor next to Boromir's. He then got on his knees, straddling Boromir, his hands flat against his chest.

Aragorn could feel the wirey hairs beneath his fingers, the warmth of Boromir's skin, and the quickening rumble of his heart. His thumb eased over and teased with Boromir's left nipple. He grinned to himself as Boromir's abdomin tightened with a shudder.

Boromir stared up at Aragorn, his thoughts screaming within him.

_What do I do?_ Dare I refuse him this? It is indeed a dishonorable thing, to sleep with another man, but... He took a shakey breath as Aragorn leaned forward, planting his lips firmly into Boromir's stomach. _But he is the King of Gondor... _if serving him in this manner will result in the greater good of Gondor, then... He raised his eyes to meet Aragorn's, but Aragorn had already closed them, kissing furiously up Boromir's chest. _Then I must surrender myself to him._

Boromir, on his back, feeling the prickle of twigs and stones under the thin blankets on which he laid, gazed into the face of his future king. Such anger he held in his expression, such a darkness deep within his furrowed brow. Even with his eyes closed, as he sucked and bit at Boromir's soft skin around his breasts, there was something ferral about him.

But Boromir reached out with his hand and carefully stroked Aragorn's face, the delicate beard stubble tickling at his rough, calloused fingertips. Aragorn briefly opened his eyes, but, upon seeing Boromir's gazing right back, he quickly shut them. Aragorn fell over on top of Boromir, their hot chests colliding, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him up to his face, where he pounded his lips against his in a wet fury of tongue and salvia.

Boromir opened his mouth and let him in, their tongues ramming and sliding around, filling each other's mouths with spit and dirt and blood. Aragorn moaned and pressed his face down hard into Boromir's, biting onto his lips and sucking and licking them at the same time. Feeling foolish and utterly helpless, Boromir laid there and took it for a moment before reaching up to hold onto Aragorn's bare shoulders. Boromir slid his hands down his shoulders and over his back, exploring long-forgotten scars and scraggly patches of hair.

"Oh, _Arwen_," Aragorn purred suddenly, then bit back down onto Boromir's upper lip. Boromir kissed at him slowly, feeling like he was watching something dirty instead of participating in it. He misses the Elf woman so much, he realized.

Boromir's whole body went rigid as Aragorn's hand snatched onto Boromir's crotch. His eyes widened with fear as Aragorn pulled away his underwear. Boromir's penis stuck out of his pubic hairs like an uncertain surrendering flag, low and fearful and hesitant. But he didn't say a word, not even as Aragorn fished around in his armor, pulling out his own errect penis.

Boromir closed his eyes and tears slipped down his cheeks.

Aragorn forced himself to keep his eyes closed, clenching his teeth into the side of Boromir's neck as he felt with his penis's tip to find Boromir's asshole.

Please, father, Boromir begged in his mind. _Forgive me_.

Then Aragorn shoved his way inside, pushing his crotch hard into Boromir's.

Boromir's eyes shot open and for an instant all he could see was whiteness. He squeezed his eyes shut again, a low moan escaping his lips as he held back his cries.

Aragorn groaned and began pumping his waist back and forth, grabbing onto Boromir's knees with fingernails like daggers. His penis, reluctant at first, began sliding easily in and out of Boromir's filthy ass, becoming slick with pre-cum and feces and blood.

Pain tore through Boromir's ass like fire through a wheat field. Sudden, explosive, and disasterous. He held his tongue and did not cry out, for his father, for Gondor, for his king.

...

After a few minutes, Aragorn reached his extent and climaxed inside of Boromir, filling his burning ass with a rush of hot slime.

Panting and sweating with exertion, Aragorn sat back on his knees, his penis sliding obediantly after him. Aragorn hung his head, breathing heavily, and opened his eyes. He stared at his own penis, coated in cum and blood and bit of waste. It sat lazily on the blanket, throbbing still with its release. Aragorn closed his eyes again and sighed with regret. He understood what he had done. He did not have sex with his Elven love. No. He raped Boromir.

Aragorn stood up, tucked his member back into his clothes and began pulling his shirt and chain-mail back on. He avoided Boromir's eyes.

Feeling rejected and alone, Boromir stood up shakily, using a boulder to support himself, and gathered up his underwear and pants. He hesitated for a second before pulling them both on.

When he straightened up, Aragorn was in his face, a dagger poking into his throat. Boromir searched Aragorn's face.

"Tell no one of this," Aragorn ordered darkly.

Boromir inclined his head submissively, and Aragorn turned away, sheathed his dagger, and left the clearing.

Boromir moved slowly, like an old woman, as he found his armor and began putting it all on. Tears rolled freely down his face, and his body shivered with shame and misery. Yet he did not make a sound. He waited a few minutes before gathering up the bag and blankets and following after Aragorn.

Legolas had already went to lie down and Aragorn had taken his place as look-out as Boromir came to the cave. Aragorn stared right through him, striking a match to smoke his pipe.

Boromir ducked his head shyly and crept by Aragorn like a guilty dog. He took out the blankets and laid down quietly, trembling from head to toe. He did not sleep at all that night.


	9. Chapter 9

Aragorn went to his blankets to lay down as Gimli took over for the last watch. Aragorn laid down, trying not to look at where Boromir lay, near the Hobbits. His body was tense. His fingers flexed into fists and re-opened. He forced himself to keep his eyes closed, pulling the blanket over his face. Anger. Such anger. And guilt. What had he just done?

_Arwen... How can she ever love me now?_ He wondered bitterly. _I'm such a fool..._ He thought of Boromir, how bendable he had been, how easily he was manipulated. How he just took it. _Perhaps... Perhaps I was not the first man to... Enter him in that way._ Aragorn entertained with disgust. _Perhaps his fondness for the Hobbits is not out of friendship alone. _The thought sickened him._ I love Arwen, and yet, I fell to my abominable lusting..._ He opened his eyes, staring up at the itchy woolen blanket, seeing nothing but the odd specks of orange from the glow of the fire through tiny holes in the fabric. _It's his fault. He's a tempter of men. If he was not with us, I would have gone a thousand lifetimes without ever doing what I just did. Something must be done. I cannot allow him to stay with us if he is indeed after the Hobbits for unholy purposes... Or after myself._ Aragorn rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He fell alseep to the low snapping of dying embers and the occasional cough from the dwarf keeping watch.

The shriek of a rabbit woke Samwise. He jumped up from his little make-shift bed and scurried out of the cave. A hawk swooped up right in front of him. Sam fell back onto his butt as the great bird carried the rabbit with its talons into the air, beating its wings tirelessly as it flew over the cave and out of sight. Sam watched, the breath returning to his lungs as he calmed back down. He sighed and drug himself back inside the cave, noting that inside it was much cooler than it was outside.

He sat on the cold stone floor and flicked the twigs and leaves from between his over-sized hairy toes. He felt a chill not unlike the wind, and he looked up to see Boromir standing over him. Sam's hand fell to his sword, and he drew it swiftly. The noise woke Frodo, who sat up quickly, his heavy eyes fixing upon Boromir with distrust.

"Be at peace, Halflings," Boromir said gently, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. His eye lingered for a moment too long at the chain hanging around Frodo's neck. Frodo noticed and his fingers wrapped around the golden Ring protectively, and also greedily. "What can I do to prove I no longer crave for that piece of metal?" Boromir asked stiffly, tired of playing the same song but knowing it was he who kept pressing repeat.

"You can take your filthy, lying, no-good, thieving little-"

"Just leave us alone," Frodo interupted Sam thinly.

Boromir turned away.

Aragorn was watching. Boromir swallowed and stepped towards him, but before Boromir could get too close, Aragorn walked out of the cave. Legolas stood leaning against the mouth of the cave, staring out at the early morning sun. He straightened up and his ears would have risen if he had been an animal as Aragorn walked by. Legolas looked at Aragorn expectantly, wanting him to say it was time to move on, but Aragorn said not a word. Gimli sat on a rock outside, chewing on a piece of dried meat from his pack. Aragorn walked past him as well and went off on his own. Everyone assumed he was going to relieve himself.

Except Boromir.

Though it seemed Aragorn was in a bitter mood, most likely because of him, Boromir still felt like it was his duty to see if he could help resolve it.

He glanced back at the Hobbits. Merry and Pippin were still alseep. Sam was talking quietly to Frodo, his hand resting on his shoulder. Frodo was hanging his head dejectedly. A zombie without its brains. Boromir paused to stare at Legolas before he went out. Legolas looked at him and they stared off for a few seconds before Boromir calmly bowed his head and walked on. Gimli sneezed, a violent, choppy sound that was joined by a spray of saliva. Boromir grinned at him teasily and Gimli spat in his direction. He followed Aragorn's invisible trail off around the cave.

After a minute or two, Boromir found him easily enough. Aragorn was facing a tree, his back to Boromir. His sword was drawn, stuck in the dirt at his side. His hand resting on the hilt like a cane.

"Aragorn?" Boromir called tenatively, feeling intrusive.

Aragorn whirled around. His face was like a bull's. Prodded and abused. Striken with misery and pent-up rage. Boromir was afraid of his expression. It was full of such hatred, yet tears were running down his face.

"Aragorn," Boromir stepped towards him.

Suddenly Aragorn jerked the sword from the dirt and swung it up, pointing at Boromir, though they were still a few yards apart.

"Keep away from me," Aragorn warned. "You are from Sauran, I know that now. You're just a dirty pawn in his evil game. And now you've tainted me."

_How dare you? _Boromir wanted to scream. But on the contrary, he understood. He almost agreed with Aragorn, but he was too afraid of it being right. He crossed his eyes, staring at the tip of Aragorn's sword. He followed it to Aragorn's chest, up to his neck, his chin, his lips. His mouth filled with liquid and he had to swallow. He gazed into Aragorn's eyes, which flashed desperately between hate and fear.

He strode forward.

Aragorn held still, his sword still pointed, even as Boromir walked into the blade, the very tip piercing into his armor and lightly poking his chest.

"I will not move without you telling me to move. I will not speak until you tell me I can speak," Boromir said fiercly. Then, his voice softened. "I am not one of Sauran's men. I belong to you, and you alone. Do with me what you will, my king."

Aragorn was stunned. His eyes searched Boromir's face frantically, but found him to be sincere in his words. Aragorn raised the tip of his sword to Boromir's throat. Boromir didn't flinch even as a line of blood appeared under his chin. His eyes were unreadable, and it made Aragorn nervous.

"Turn around," Aragorn said at last, his voice dry. He didn't want to see his eyes anymore. Boromir turned around.

Aragorn wanted to kill him. Just get it over and done with. To protect Frodo and the others. To protect himself. He also wanted to jerk his pants down and rape him again. Put to shame that pathetic Gondor swine. Prove that the son of the steward of Gondor was as useless as a legless horse. _But what would that do to me and my reputation? My future with Arwen? _He wondered. _This is ridiculous, how dare I even consider letting him live? He is the reason Men are frowned upon so consistantly._ He wiped a blade of grass off the edge of his sword. _He must die._

Aragorn raised his sword.

Boromir stood silently contemplating his life. Was everything he had done in his lifetime worth getting to this point? Were those late-night drinks and orgies with the women really worth ignoring his brother for so many years? Was volunteering for every little skirmish before anyone else could really that important? Did his father really care about him, or did he just like how reckless he was? What was he doing right now? What was Faramir doing? They all thought he was bearing the Ring back to Gondor on speedy horses. What would they think when they found out he was a cowardous fool who drove himself mad with various temptations? _My father would kill himself,_ Boromir thought moodily. _Faramir would run away. Gondor would fly into panic. All because of me._

Unexpectedly, Aragorn felt warmth swelling into his crotch. He looked down dumbly, wondering why. He looked at Boromir. The solid stance, his fearless determination to hold absolutely still. He looked up at the sword he held above his head, waiting to swing down and cut off the sinful right hand. Something clinched in his throat and he lowered the sword. He sheathed it as quietly as possible, his heart hammering as if it had just begun to beat, why he did not know.

"Turn around," Aragorn said. His voice came out ten times smaller than he wanted it to. Boromir turned back to him, and Aragorn seized him by the long stands of hair hanging by his ears and pulled their faces together. He kissed him, a passionate thing wrought with the unknown.

Boromir's eyes closed and he kissed Aragorn back. Their gristly beards scrabbed against each other as their mouths opened and closed, their tongues pushing in and out.

_No one will ever know of this, I will make certain of that. _Aragorn thought wildly. _As long as Boromir holds his tongue, no one will ever know of this affair._

A sort of drunken lightness washed over Boromir. _I know now why some call death "The bitter end,"_ he thought. _For if I died, I would never get to see Aragorn again._

Pippin, who had been dutifully pissing on a flower, heard a strange sound and followed it beyond the cave. He saw Aragorn and Boromir sucking-face a couple hundred yards off and almost yelled in horror. _What are they doing? _He thought, but he really knew the answer. He snuck away as silently as possible and sprinted back to the cave. He dove on top of Merry, who was about to take a bite out of a potato Sam just cooked, and started sputtering nonsense.

"Pippin!" Merry snapped, shoving him off.

"Oiy, watch yourself!" Sam scolded, holding a sizzling frying pan above his head.

"M-m-m-m-Merry!" Pippin grabbed at Merry's clothes.

"What? What?" Merry demanded.

"I-I- I jus- just-"

"Soiled yourself? Boy, you smell like a goblin's tunic!" Merry waved a hand in front of his nose dramatically.

Pippin looked down and saw, to his embaressment, that he had indeed wet himself in all the excitement.

"No," Pippin blushed. "No, I-"

"Agh, go change then tell me, will you?" Merry found the potato and dusted it off before taking a bite.

Sam laughed boomingly, nudging Frodo and telling him loudly that Pippin wet his pants, though Frodo had been right there, and seen the whole thing. Pippin stripped down and changed into clean clothes, taking the wet ones outside to dry. He saw Aragorn and Boromir coming back to the cave. His throat went dry and his mouth glued shut. He couldn't stop staring even though he knew he should look away.

Boromir tilted his head at him curiously but said nothing, going in the cave. Aragorn stopped and asked him if he was alright, to which Pippin nodded quickly.

Moments after Aragorn went in the cave, Pippin was gasping for breath, and he wondered how long he had been holding it without realizing it.


	10. Chapter 10

Days passed.

Pippin kept his mouth shut, though he felt queezy whenever he looked at Aragorn or Boromir, or whenever they looked at him.

They traveled quickly and slept only when necessary. They came to a small mountain and were forced to climb it. Remnants of long-forgotten travelers were scattered among the mountain's hesitant overgrown paths.

At the steepest points, Aragorn and Boromir and Legolas would carry the Hobbits on their backs, reaching up and placing them on the ledge above them as if they were mere baggage. Gimli struggled the most, though he would not admit it. His beard kept getting hung up on rocks and brambles, and his legs were too short to climb as easily as the others. Stubborness kept him from complaint.

...

Once afternoon Legolas scouted ahead while the rest of the Fellowship made a small fire and heated the lembas bread for lunch.

Frodo sat with his back against the rough, grainy wall. His head was tilted up, eyes gazing skyward at the dreary gray clouds which gathered above the mountain's peak. He had his hand up his shirt, fingers tracing the smoothe circle of the Ring unconciously. Sam sat beside him, offering him bits of bread every few seconds, but Frodo did not respond.

Merry sat with his knees tucked to his chest, wiggling his toes in front of the fire. He munched on a bruised apple, warming the delicate skin before every bite. Pippin was at his side. Having been distracting himself by watching a grasshopper, Pippin flinched when Aragorn said his name. He looked up anxiously only to see Aragorn handing him a flask of water. He took it, grinning shyly, staring at Aragorn's lips like a fool. Aragorn gave him an odd look before turning away.

Gimli had fallen asleep, his body pushed to its limits. He slumped over on himself, his back against a thin, leafless sapling. Boromir stood near the edge of the cliff, his arms folded over his chest. He stared off at the lands they had passed through just hours before. He felt Aragorn watching him and turned to see him coming towards him.

Boromir puffed out his chest as Aragorn came over to him. Their eyes met, and held.

"Perhaps we ought to scout ahead in the other direction," Aragorn said in a low voice.

Boromir said nothing.

"Say it," Aragorn ordered, his voice a tense whisper.

"Perhaps we ought to scout ahead in the other direction," Boromir said a bit loudly, his eyes glossy and dark as he stared deeply into Aragorn's.

"Yes, that is a good idea." Aragorn put in.

Frodo and Sam looked up. Merry stood and Pippin ducked his head, picking at the leather strap of the water flask.

"Both of you?" Merry asked shortly.

Pippin blushed.

"Two heads are better than one," Aragorn said seriously. He pointed at Gimli. "Wake the Dwarf," he told Boromir.

Boromir went to Gimli and kicked him in the foot. Gimli let out a grumbling yell and swung out with a massive fist, thudding into Boromir's thigh. Boromir winced and stepped back.

"Wake up," he told Gimli, kicking him again.

Gimli swore and scrambled to his feet.

"What? What?" He demanded, glaring at Boromir.

Boromir turned to Aragorn.

"Keep watch. Me and Boromir are scouting this way," Aragorn pointed the direction they would be heading.

"Alright, I guess. It's not like I was sleepin' or anything..." Gimli grunted, hefting his axe and resting it on his shoulder. He gave Boromir a warning look, which he ignored.

Aragorn gestured and Boromir lead the way.

They left the Hobbits with the Dwarf and picked their way through sharp rocks and thorns as they marched out a new path.

"What do you think, Boromir?" Aragorn asked after a few minutes of walking.

Boromir glanced at him, then studied the ground. "I believe Orcs have passed this way, but not in any recent times," he said, straightening up.

"Why do you think that?"

Boromir's shoulders went stiff. Aragorn was right beside him, speaking into his ear rather loudly.

"Well," he stooped down. "The grass is yellowed here. Perhaps they slept here, or used this spot for their excrements. The dirt is thin and dry, but this road is not often traveled; you can still see traces of Orc boot-prints if you look hard enough. And here's a bit of bone, possibly from their meals..." His voice faded and he raised his eyes to see Aragorn just staring at him.

Boromir stood up slowly.

"Is it safe?" Aragorn asked deliberately.

Boromir's eyes widened and his heart beat quickened as he caught Aragorn's secret meaning. A nervousness flushed over his expression but he gulped it down. He looked around for any signs of life, strained his ears for any sign of eavesdroppers, and concluded they were alone.

"I believe so, my Lord." Boromir said, his lip trembling.

"Good." Aragorn took his buckle off, tossing his sword to the grass, followed by his armor.

Is this a trap? Boromir wondered. What does he want from me? _Why does he... Torment me so?_

Aragorn stood before Boromir, naked apart from his underwear. He set his boots beside his sword sheath and stared at Boromir with heat.

"Come here," Aragorn commanded.

Boromir went to him, his body shaking, his eyes moist. He stood a foot away from Aragorn silently, swallowing down his fear.

Aragorn put his hand on Boromir's shoulder and pushed on him. "Down," he ordered. Boromir sank to his knees, sweat pooling along the back of his neck. His nose was inches away from Aragorn's crotch. He could smell his desire. He could feel his own.

Aragorn's hands fell down to his underwear, and Boromir tilted his head to stare up at Aragorn's face. Aragorn didn't look him in the eye. He pulled his dick out of the open, tickling it a little with his thumb before letting it hang. Boromir averted his eyes. He was embaressed. He felt like he was violating Gondor. He felt like he was violating the King.

"Take it," Aragorn said, pushing his hips forward. Boromir turned his head away, his stomach contorting. He took a deep breath and raised his trembling hands, reaching for Aragorn's swollen cock.

"Not with your hands," Aragorn added suddenly.

Boromir looked up sharply. This time he caught Aragorn's eye.

"M-my Lord, I-"

"Did I tell you to speak?" Aragorn demanded angrily, his hand snatching onto Boromir's hair. Tears filled his eyes but Boromir said nothing else. He parted his lips, and Aragorn thrust his penis inside.

...

"Merry." Pippin leaned in close to Merry's ear, speaking quickly in a hushed tone.

"What is it?" Merry asked, stabbing a stick into the weak fire.

"I have to tell you something," Pippin whispered urgently.

"Okay, what?" Merry asked, growing irritated.

"It's about Aragorn and Boromir," Pippin went on.

"Just spit it out, will you, Pip?" Merry sighed.

"What about them?" Sam asked, sitting down by the fire.

"No, it's nothing, I-" Pippin hesitated.

"_Please, _Pippin, just tell us." Merry shook his head as if shamed by Pippin's behavior.

"Well," Pippin relented. "I don't want them knowing I told you, so keep it quiet, will you?" Pippin pleaded.

"_Of course, _Pippin," Merry said thinly.

"Yeah." Sam bobbed his head in agreement.

Pippin glanced around nervously. Gimli was asleep again, and it seemed like Frodo was as well. All was silent.

"Okay, so yesterday out by the cave... I saw Aragorn and Boromir together." Pippin wrung his hands together like a nervous old maid, his eyes twitchy and wide, flinching at imagined sounds.

"And?" Merry prodded.

"And- and they were... _Kissing_."

"What?" Merry cried.

"No way!" Sam spat. "You had to be seeing things." Sam didn't believe it.

"It's true, I saw them-" Pippin insisted.

"They wouldn't've done that," Sam retorted.

"Yeah, Pip. They practically hate each other," Merry put in.

"Then what are they doing now then, huh?" Pippin snapped. "Legolas can find a path on his own. They didn't need to go off like that."

Sam and Merry looked at each other.

Sam shook his head. "I still don't think-"

"What's going on?" Frodo asked. He was standing three feet away, though from his expression he appeared much further. His eyes were dark and ringed with gray from lack of sleep. He took a shaky step towards Sam, repeating his question.

"Nothing, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quickly, jumping up to help Frodo sit back down. "Pippin just thought he'd seen something, but he was wrong."

"Oh," Frodo said, sagging back to the ground.

Sam gave Pippin a dirty look over his shoulder.

"Everything's alright, Mr. Frodo," Sam said calmly, patting him on the back.

Merry punched Pippin in the shoulder. Pippin grunted and rubbed the spot. He knew what he had seen. He was mad they didn't believe him, but he would make sure they did.


	11. Chapter 11

_My people... What will they think of me now? _Tears whispered down the soft skin of Boromir's cheeks. A trembling in his hands had begun a long while ago and had still not ceased. Would it not be better to die, than to suffer such humiliation? He wondered, biting onto his knuckle so no sobs would escape his lips.

Aragorn dressed in front of him, his back turned as he pulled his chainmail over his head. Boromir fought to control himself as Aragorn finished tying the leather straps of his sword belt.

How could such a man be put in charge of the armies of Gondor? Aragorn thought venomously, straightening his shirt, deliberately not looking at Boromir. No wonder the city is falling into despair.

"You're a disgrace," Aragorn said suddenly, facing Boromir at last.

Boromir raised his head, his lips trembling and his face streaked with the dirty lines of tears.

"If the White City falls, it will be on your hands, not on your father's." Aragorn felt a bit more pleased with himself, seeing the misery in Boromir's eyes, lessening his own shame.

"As you say, my Lord," Boromir said softly. "But I will not let that happen."

"You shall have no say in it," Aragorn retorted. "You will never see Gondor's doorstep again."

Boromir stared, fear of that possibility waving through his stomach.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes._ What did I ever see in you?_ He turned away and started to walk back to the campsite.

His heart fluttering, Boromir quickly grabbed his arm, but Aragorn shook him off.

"Do not touch me until you have bathed yourself, dog." Aragorn snarled.

With that, Aragorn went away.

Boromir stood for a moment in the silence, but then the ground filled with vibrations and the air filled with the clanging of metal. A roar sounded close by, and Boromir whirled around to see a crowd of fifty Orcs pushing their way towards him along the narrow mountain path. The Orcs cackled and punched their shields, seeing Boromir alone.

He drew his sword.

...

Aragorn went back to the camp. Gimli was sucking on a water flask, Sam, Merry, and Frodo were playing marbles with small stones. Pippin sat with them, but his mind was far off. Aragorn wondered briefly about Legolas, seeing he was still gone, but he figured he could take care of himself.

Pippin looked up and saw Aragorn, his face blushing bright red. Quickly he grabbed some rocks and pretended he was playing the game with the other Hobbits, if only not to see Aragorn and picture his furry face pressing into Boromir's, their tongues lapping over each other like dogs, their hot crotches... Pippin shuddered.

Aragorn slung the hair from his eyes, slumping down before the pitiful fire. He stared into the embers, meager sparks floating up and vanishing on the light breeze. He breathed in the smoke, slowly, tasting the wood and the dirt and the ash. Aragorn sighed.

"Oh, look," Merry nudged Pippin. "There's Aragorn. Go give him a kiss."

Pippin smacked at him. "Shut it," he hissed.

"C'mon, you know you want to." Merry chuckled.

"What?" Frodo said, confusion wrinkling across his forehead.

"'Parently Pippin had one of them wet dreams about Strider," Sam said, his cheeks redding.

_"What?"_ Frodo stared.

"It wasn't a dream!" Pippin cried.

Suddenly Legolas came running out of nowhere.

"Aragorn!" He called, a strangly hushed yell.

Aragorn stood.

"Orcs, about fifty of them." Legolas told him, skidding to a halt.

"Where?" Aragorn drew his sword.

Legolas pointed. "Up that ridge. They were headed this way."

Aragorn paled. _Boromir_, he thought.

"Take the Hobbits, get somewhere out of sight." Aragorn said.

Legolas went to the Hobbits and helped them gather their things. Gimli got up, lifting his axe. Aragorn looked at him and nodded shortly.

"Let's go." Aragorn started jogging and Gimli pounded after him.

Legolas took the Hobbits back down the mountain to a small crack in the cliffside, where they managed to fit comfortably inside and conveniently out of sight.

...

Boromir, stubborn, proud, and devestatingly honorable, was fighting to somehow attone for his acts of disgrace. He managed to take down twelve of them before they had him surrounded. Despite his odds, Boromir wasn't afraid.

If this is how it all ends, I will not weep for myself, he thought. Let them cower before my blade,but I will show them no mercy, just as they extend none to me.

A spear caught him in the leg, running deep into his bone. He screamed but quickly held his tongue, slashing down with his sword and cutting the Orc in half. He swung out with his shield, catching another Orc on the mouth and sending him flailing into three others, wounded them. They came from all sides, their swords and spears pointed at Boromir. He bashed away a sword with his fist, stabbing the Orc in the stomach but another came from behind and stuck Boromir in his shoulder. He tried to turn to kill the Orc, but another one sliced open his knee, sending him to the dirt. Boromir tried to get up, but a spear pinned his arm to the ground.

_"Boromir!" _

Aragorn thundered towards him, swinging his sword and yelling a battle cry. Orcs let out wimpy squeels of terror as they were slaughtered by his blade. Gimli joined him, pummeling the Orcs into bloody, wretched messes.

Within moments, all of the Orcs were mutilated beyond repair, sprawled on the dirt, twitching and gurgling on the gashes in their throats.

Aragorn knelt before Boromir, roughly jerking the spear from his arm and tossing it aside. Boromir winced and smiled gratefully up at Aragorn, but Aragorn was not thus pleased.

He seized Boromir by the from of his shirt and jerked him to him, punching him in the jaw.

"You told me this area was safe!" Aragorn snarled. _"You lied to me!"_

Boromir blinked dizzily at him. "I-"

Aragorn punched him again, this time in the teeth. Boromir's teeth cut into Aragorn's knuckles, and both of them grunted.

"What are you doing, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, huffing for breath.

"Leave me be!" Aragorn snapped at him, then turned back to Boromir. "Why would you lie to me? Did you hope_ I _would be the one surrounded by Orcs, unable to defend myself?"

"No, Aragorn! I-"

Aragorn punched him again, and again, and again, relishing the way Boromir's rock-hard jaw turned as soft as bread beneath his fist. His eyes widened at the dribbles of drool and blood that ran from his pale lips. Aragorn started sweating. He wanted to pull Boromir's filthy face to his and lick the blood from his teeth. He wanted Boromir's bloody lips sucking on his penis again. Desire, burning from deep within him. He wanted him so badly... Aragorn's fingers twitched, and he let him go.

Boromir fell onto his back, coughing.

Gimli stared, slack-jawed in disbelief.

Aragorn walked past him, headed back to the camp. "That traitor tried to lure the Orcs to the camp to kill us," he told Gimli in a low voice.

Gimli looked at Boromir with disgust, raising his axe.

Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not kill him."

Gimli nodded, and Aragorn left them alone.

Boromir swallowed mouthfuls of blood, forcing himself to sit up at last. He raised his dark eyes as Gimli came towards him.

"I knew we never should have taken another Man on this quest," Gimli spat hatefully. He tossed his axe to the side, and it stuck into the body of an Orc.

"My friend, Aragorn is mistaken," Boromir said gently as Gimli walked up to him.

"I'm not your friend. And _Aragorn_ wouldn't lie to us." Gimli narrowed his eyes.

"What will you do, torture me? Kill me?" Boromir asked calmly, holding onto his bleeding knee. "How will you live with yourself when you discover this is a mistake?"

"I'll manage," Gimli said shortly.

Gimli drew back his stubby little leg and kicked Boromir in the chest.


	12. Chapter 12

Boromir wept.

Left alone amongst the wretched corpses of Orcs, beaten and abused, he laid on the cold ground, which was damp with the blood of his enemies and the blood of his own vessel.

He trembled from head to toe, violently, uncontrollably. It hurt to breathe; each withering cry that escaped his lips pained him. His eyes blurred in and out of focus, but he saw the sky and noticed the afternoon was fading into evening. He wondered how long he had been lying there.

_Why,_ Boromir wondered. _Why did he think I would betray him? _Did he truely believe I would try to ambush him? Does he think me so loathful? I could never do anything to hurt him. Even now, despite all this pain he has caused me... I would sooner die.

He closed his eyes, and the tears slowed. He thought of Frodo, how he had always burned inside, longing for that pitiful piece of gold, never able to become friends with the lonely and burdened young Halfling. He thought of his father, who had the same desire, wanting the Ring to come to Gondor, trusting Boromir's strength to keep him from falling victim to the Ring's temptations.

_What good was I in this?_ Boromir asked himself. I failed my father, and the Fellowship. I've shamed my family and destroyed my honor. My life has been a waste. I deserve to die here.

...

When Aragorn returned to the camp, he found Legolas and told everyone that Boromir had been killed by the Orcs. Gimli played along, though half-heartedly.

Legolas offered that they stay and give him a proper send-off, but Aragorn flatly refused, saying that there could be more Orcs around, and he didn't want them to find the Hobbits.

Frodo was stunned. Boromir may have been a Man twisted by the darkness of the Ring, but he didn't want him to die. He had hoped Boromir would have overcome his desire, and perhaps become on kindly terms with him like he had with Merry and Pippin. His fingers closed around the Ring. I am sorry, he thought. That you have fallen.

Aragorn stared at everyone in turn, seeing how well they believed him, and they all appeared to without question. He held up his head, pleased.

"We must go now," Aragorn said, walking on.

Frodo and Sam went after him, and Gimli followed behind them. Legolas waited for Merry and Pippin to move on, so he could follow at the rear.

"C'mon, Pip," Merry said sadly, taking his friend by the hand. Pippin shoved him away.

"No!" He snapped.

Aragorn turned around, staring at Pippin with suspicious eyes.

"Pippin, there's nothing we can do. Boromir's dead." Merry kept his voice low and soft.

Pippin looked up at Aragorn, and he searched his face. Pippin recalled the sorrowful pleasure that had been etched all over Aragorn's face as he had kissed Boromir, the guilt and sinfulness that made it all the more enjoyable. _There's no way Aragorn could be so cold-hearted if he were really dead. _

"I don't believe you," he said darkly.

Suddenly Pippin sprinted back up the path.

A demon called Fear punched its icy claws into Aragorn's stomach. _What do I do? _He will find Boromir alive, for sure. He thought frantically. His leg muscles spasmed, eagar to run after him_. What if Boromir tells him what I did?_

"Pippin!" Merry shouted.

Aragorn forced himself to keep calm.

"Come, let us follow him." He told the others. "We do not want him to fall into the same pit as Boromir."

They followed Pippin at a brisk walk, though Aragorn wanted to scream and run and swing his sword and slaughter any life left in Boromir before he could sputter out Aragorn's secret.

...

Boromir raised his head as Pippin stumbled up the path.

"Boromir!" He cried. "You're alive!"

He looked around at all the dead Orcs and a queasiness flooded his stomach.

"You kill all of them?" Pippin asked in awe.

"Nay," Boromir replied. "Aragorn and Gimli finished off most of them."

Pippin walked slowly to Boromir, as if Boromir were a disease he didn't want to catch. He knelt beside him, his eyes widening at the extent of his wounds.

"Golly," he whispered. "What happened to you?"

"They outmatched me," Boromir said. "I was unable to fight them all."

Pippin hesitated before standing back up. "I'll tell the others. They think you're dead."

"Perhaps that's how it should be," Boromir sighed, laying his head back to the dirt.

Pippin looked at Boromir, feeling awkward. "I'll get them," he said. He ran back the way he'd come, stopping before Boromir left his sight. He cupped his hands over his mouth and took a deep breath.

_"Hey!_ _Ara-"_

Suddenly a hand slapped over his mouth and held tight. Pippin squirmed and kicked out, terror exposing his cowardance. Then Aragorn was in his face, his hand still over Pippin's mouth.

"Shhh," Aragorn said in a hushed tone.

Pippin's eyes widened, and Aragorn let him go. Pippin tripped on his own feet and fell back onto his bottom. He stared up at him in horror, conducting a million different ways Aragorn could rape and murder him.

"We do not want to alert any more Orcs," Aragorn added.

Then Legolas and Gimli and the other Hobbits came up the path, and Aragorn moved past Pippin towards Boromir.

"He's alive," Pippin whispered hoarsely as Merry approached him.

Frodo's heart lifted, but both he and Sam stopped short, seeing the carnage.

Legolas heard Pippin's whisper and hurried over to Boromir.

Aragorn knelt and rested the palm of his hand on Boromir's cheek. Boromir opened his eyes. They stared at each other, and Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Legolas was there, on his knees beside him, pulling bandages and Elven ointments from his bag.

Boromir stared at Aragorn expectantly, but Aragorn stood up and walked away, leaving Legolas to it.

Boromir turned his attention to the Elf. He took him by the wrist, stopping him from bandaging his shoulder. Legolas looked at him. "Thank you, Legolas," Boromir said weakly. "But you need not heal me. I am beyond repair."

Legolas checked him over, finding that untrue. Legolas figured Boromir was going into shock, and thus didn't know what he was saying.

"It will be alright," Legolas told him. "We will not let you suffer."

Tears filled his eyes, and Boromir closed them quickly. Soon he slipped away into unconciousness, and Legolas was able to finish dressing his wounds, taking off Boromir's armor.

When Aragorn saw Boromir's bare chest, once so warm and bronze and firm, marred with open wounds and bruises and streaked with blood, he had to look away.

After a few minutes, Legolas was done, and he stood and went to Aragorn.

"He is alseep," he told him. "We should move him off the path."

Aragorn nodded. "I will carry him," he said decisively.

The Hobbits stood together in a silent line, watching as Aragorn went to Boromir. He hunched over him, and, after making sure he was blocking everyone's view, kissed Boromir lightly on the lips. "I will kill you in your sleep if you tell anyone what I did to you," he whispered in his ear. Then he picked Boromir up like a child, ignoring the weak groan that shuddered out of him.

"We must hurry," Aragorn said, facing the others. "Evening is falling and we must get off the mountain."

Gimli gave Aragorn an odd look, wondering why he didn't just come out and tell everyone that Boromir tried to ambush them, but he wasn't about to argue. His feet were tired and he wanted to rest, which obviously wasn't going to happen until they got off the mountain. He huffed and followed him wordlessly.

Pippin followed in silence as well, and Merry thought it was his fault for Pippin being quiet, so he kept apologizing.

"I'm sorry I tried to stop you, Pip, really," Merry said, feeling more and more confused. "I just didn't think Aragorn was wrong. He isn't wrong that often, you know..."

Merry droned on, but Pippin wasn't listening. He had never been more scared of anything than he had been when Aragorn was holding his mouth. Pippin had felt so helpless, so vulnerable. Aragorn was so powerful... He thought of Boromir, remembering how helpless he had been, lying there, accepting that he was a goner without even trying to fight it. Men are usually the ones that fight until their last breath and _still_ keep trying to fight. _Why was he so ready to give up?_

Aragorn stayed in front, leading the Fellowship back down the path, then up the one Legolas had scouted earlier. In his arms, Boromir trembled in his sleep, bloody bandages and ripe bruises covering most of his body. Boromir was heavy, and Aragorn's arms were starting to ache, but he wasn't about to pass him over to Legolas or Gimli. Saying nothing, Aragorn marched on, staring straight ahead.


	13. Chapter 13

They travelled for hours, the sun slipping away in a glorious explosion of color behind the mountain, but none of the Fellowship noticed the sunset. Gradually the moon crept out from behind a black cloud and lit their way with its milky brightness.

The Hobbits, their short legs aching from climbing up and down steep rocks all day, were lagging behind, forcing the Man, Elf, and Dwarf to slow their pace.

Aragorn looked at the Hobbits behind him, and, despite their distress, he urged them to keeping going, for they were just an hour away from being off the mountain and safe in the valley. He glanced down at Boromir in his arms. He was still unconsious. Aragorn considered dropping him and letting him tumble down the dark rocky slope before him, just to see if he would awaken, just to hear him scream. He smiled privately and walked on.

...

They came at last to the valley and made a nest in a small grove of trees.

The Hobbits took blankets and threw them over piles of leaves, then laid down and covered themselves with more blankets, for the night was chilly in the mountain valley. Gimli tried their idea, but when he went down, he found himself laying on the broken end of a stick. Legolas planned on staying up to keep watch, but Aragorn told him that he would, so Legolas joined the others and rested among the leaves.

Aragorn laid Boromir on a blanket, and covered him with his own. He sat cross-legged beside him, staring down at his scabbing, rough face. Aragorn gently touched the place on Boromir's jaw where he had struck him, feeling the swollen flesh and bone._ I did that, _he thought, his breath catching.

He gazed down at Boromir for a long while, listening to the soft rattling of leaves and the moaning of the wind in the trees, until he was sure everyone was asleep.

He slid closer to Boromir and lifted up his neck, placing his head in his lap. _I could slit your throat, _he thought briefly. His hand fell down to Boromir's head, where his fingers carefully ran through his hair. He felt lumps of dried mud and dried blood, mixed with the crunchiness of dried sweat. Something peaceful passed over Aragorn, and he no longer suspected Boromir of trying to trap him.

Why did I ever think that? He asked himself. He has been nothing but subservient to me, since I spared his life. Did I really think he hated me that much, when I've done nothing but favors for him? Surely he must be grateful to me. Whatever I've done to him, he's deserved, be it good or not. He ought to understand that, and not hold a grudge against me.

A breeze swept across the valley, and Aragorn shuddered. He played with Boromir's hair, admiring its dirty warmth.

An owl called its lonely call, echoing in the darkness.

Aragorn raised his head, staring off through the trees, seeing nothing beyond them but black with a hint of silver on blades of grass. He looked up at the trees, and the moon smiled down at him from above.

Suddenly Boromir's eyes fluttered, and Aragorn looked down at him in time to see him open his eyes.

Boromir blinked slowly, the moon so bright above Aragorn that he thought he was dead. "What is this death," Boromir asked softly, lifting his hand to touch Aragorn's chest with his fingertips. "That I should be granted to spend it with you?"

"You still live yet, my brother," Aragorn told him.

Boromir closed his eyes. "Then why can't my body feel anything? Why does my mind swim away from me so?"

"Legolas treated you with some Elven herbs," Aragorn replied. "Perhaps they numbed you."

"Aye, let us hope that is the reason." Boromir said drowzily.

Aragorn resumed petting Boromir's hair, feeling soothed while he did so. Boromir didn't seem to mind, or notice. Soon, Boromir drifted off to sleep again.

Aragorn sighed, a contentment bringing gladness to his heart.

"Rest," he whispered to Boromir. "For tomorrow is a new day."

...

By late afternoon, the Fellowship had left the valley and was following a path which lead to a small village in the distance.

Aragorn strode ahead, his feet barely touching the ground, his heart filled with golden joy. He wondered comically if this was how an Elf felt; so light and free and unrestrained with the inconvinience of gravity.

Boromir was slow-moving, and it pained him greatly to walk with his wounded knee and cracked ribs, but he did not grumble, and he did his best to stay at Aragorn's pace.

Legolas skipped along side, demonstrating his perfect health and immortality.

The Hobbits marched after them like oxen strapped to yolks; unwilling, yet knowing it was futile to resist.

And Gimli came tumbling after.

...

The villagers hid in their homes as the Fellowship approached, wooden locks and latches clicking and sliding into place all around them.

They paused in the village square.

"Seems we're not welcome here," Gimli grunted.

"They fear for Orcs," Legolas said shortly.

Aragorn walked on. Boromir followed him without hesitation.

"We must find their leader," Aragorn told Boromir.

Boromir nodded.

Legolas and Gimli followed behind the Hobbits, their eyes watching the houses and shops for any unsavory people.

Finding a chapel-type building, Aragorn went to the door and knocked loudly. They waited.

"Enter," a voice called.

Aragorn went in, and was surprised to see a small throne room, empty of all people except a golden-haired maiden who sat on a single chair in the center of the room.

She was dressed in a flowing red gown, and a crown of roses sat on her head. A goblet of wine sat in her hand, and she raised it to her lips and drank deeply, watching the members of the Fellowship come inside over the rim of the cup.

"Speak your business," the maiden commanded.

Aragorn bowed. "My Lady, we are travelers from all across the land. We wish to buy horses to aid us in our journey."

"I see..." The maiden eyed them carefully, running her tongue over the goblet tantalizingly. Her eyes locked onto Boromir's, who stiffened.

"Unfortunately," the maiden sighed wistfully. "We lost all our horses at the end of Spring. A band of Orcs came, unlike normal Orcs, and took our livestock and ate them alive in front of us. Our numbers were too few to ward them off, so we barracaded ourselves in the chambers beneath the village. They never found us, but ever since then we have been running out of supplies, unable to replenish them as needed. Most of the villagers have left this place, and I suggest you do as well."

"I understand," Aragorn inclinded his head. "Many villages have suffered this fate, and I am sorry to hear you have as well." He glanced at Boromir, who was standing at his right hand, still as a statue, staring at the woman. Aragorn was confused at himself, for he felt a pang of jealously. He tapped Boromir in the leg with his foot to get his attention. "We will leave you now," he told the maiden. "Thank you."

The woman nodded, her expression unreadable.

They left in a silent single-file line. Once outside, Aragorn looked around for a horse stable. He was tired of seeing Boromir limp in such a painful fashion. It was beginning to make him feel guilty, though he knew the leg wound wasn't his doing.

"It does seem as if they were under attack recently," Legolas commented. "Though I do not see any traces of Orcs."

"It matters not," Aragorn said. "She could have been telling the truth, and she could have been lying. It makes no difference. Now let us find a stable so we may get horses."

Legolas stared after him, confused at his indifference.

"Do not question him," Boromir told Legolas, his voice threatening, as he walked by.

If Legolas would have been Gimli, his fat jaw would have been flapping open. But Legolas kept his cool and helped look for a stable.

Soon they found one, and Aragorn sent Merry to look inside.

Merry ran to the stable, pressing his face to the splintery wood and peering inside through the cracks in the walls.

"It's empty!" Merry called.

Aragorn sighed. "Then we continue on foot," he concluded.

The Fellowship left the village, with the wary eyes of the villagers following them as far as they could see.

...

They came to a waterfall, which pooled out into a crystal-clear lake. Aragorn did a quick scout of the area and said they could rest there for awhile, so they did.

Legolas stood on a rock at the water's edge like a duck, staring at the waterfall, while the Hobbits filled their flasks.

Gimli threw off his armor and stripped down to his underwear (a pleasant sight), then ran to the water and dove into the air. He landed with a hard, wet sound on the water's surface, letting out a groan before sinking down. He popped back up seconds later, sputtering and coughing and swimming back to shore.

"The water 'bout froze my buttons off!" Gimli cried, rolling himself onto dry land.

"I fear what items your buttons may be," Legolas said smoothly.

"Shut it, _Elf!" _Gimli barked, wringing out his long, filthy, arm-pit hair beard.

Legolas merely smiled.

Aragorn went to Boromir.

"The water may soothe your aches," Aragorn suggested suggestively.

Boromir searched his eyes.

"As you say," Boromir said gently. Boromir quickly untied his armor and removed all his clothes, leaving on his underwear. He shivered lightly as his bruised flesh was exposed to the chilling breeze coming from the waterfall.

Aragorn's mouth filled with fluid at the sight of Boromir's nearly-naked body. He placed his hand on the small of his back, and Boromir looked at him.

"You're so warm," Aragorn muttered.

They stared into eachother's eyes, until, suddenly, Aragorn shoved Boromir towards the water.

"Go," Aragorn said bluntly. "It will refresh you."

Boromir obeyed. His bare feet squished on the cold mud at the bank, but he didn't dare to hesitate. He walked straight into the water, diving under once it reached his waist. The cold sucked away his breath and it felt like his skin was shrinking in on itself, but Aragorn was right. The burning throb of his cuts, bruises, and welts was lessening. He burst back up at the surface, slinging the hair from his eyes as he breathed in and out.

Aragorn ran his tongue over his teeth. He was feeling warm, uncomfortably so. He stared at Boromir as he swam around the lake. He swam so recklessly, as if he had barely learned how, yet he managed to keep himself afloat without much effort.

Suddenly Aragorn stripped to his underwear and he jumped onto the rock Legolas was on and dove head-first into the water.

The water exhilarated him. It was so cold, yet felt so good. He swam under the water and found Boromir's feet, pinching at them with his fingers.

Boromir flinched and kicked out, then looked down as his foot connected with something. He saw Aragorn drifting down slowly, unconcious, and terror filled his eyes. He quickly swam down to Aragorn, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him up. He struggled desperately, but made it back to the surface, shoving Aragorn's head above the water before coming up for air. He gasped and yelled for help.

Legolas dropped his bow and quiver and dove in instantly, fully-clothed.

The Hobbits and Dwarf gathered at the bank, staring, dumb-struck.

"What happened?" Pippin asked, feeling sick to his stomach as his perverted mind played dirty movies in his head.

Boromir and Legolas pulled Aragorn to shore. Boromir shoved Legolas away as he tried to feel for Aragorn's breath.

"Don't touch him!" Boromir cried protectively. Everyone stepped back. Boromir leaned down and held his cheek an inch away from Aragorn's lips. No breath.

"Aragorn?" Boromir whispered, shaking him lightly_. It's not working, _he realized. His heart was racing so quickly it was giving him a headache. Trembling, he pressed his hand into Aragorn's chest, feeling for a heartbeat. Nothing.

_He's dead._

Boromir stared at Aragorn's lifeless body.

_I killed him._

Suddenly he reached behind him and snatched a dagger from Sam's belt.

"Hey!" Sam started.

Boromir closed his eyes, raising the dagger. _I will join you, my King..._ He aimed for his chest.

"Stop!" Legolas smacked the dagger from Boromir's hand, thinking he was going to stab Aragorn. Boromir snapped out of it, scooting out of the way as Legolas dug through his pack. "He still lives," Legolas told Boromir sharply. He took a green Elven powder and poured some into his hand, then spat in it. He rubbed it into a paste and globbed it onto his finger before shoving it down Aragorn's throat.

"What are you-?" Boromir began.

"Just wait," Legolas said breathlessly.

They all waited, their eyes huge.

A minute later, Aragorn started coughing violently. He sat up, and Legolas helped him.

Frodo exhaled with relief. Boromir just stared.

Aragorn coughed out all the water and finally settled down.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, looking around, genuinely puzzled.

"I kicked you," Boromir admitted. "I'm so sorry."

Aragorn looked at him. Boromir had tears in his eyes. He was shaking. He looked down as Aragorn continued to stare at him.

"Legolas saved you," he went on. "It was accidental. Please forgive me."

"As you say," Aragorn said kindly.

Boromir raised his eyes. Aragorn was smiling at him.

A feeling more powerful than any he'd ever felt took hold, and Boromir threw his arms around Aragorn's neck and kissed him.


	14. Chapter 14

Time stood still in a moment of suspense.

Legolas's eyes widened with shock, Gimli choked on his next breath, Pippin covered his eyes with his hands, Merry's mouth dropped open, and Sam and Frodo stared, too horrified to look away.

Boromir closed his eyes, pressing his lips against Aragorn's, the breath panting shakily through his nostrils.

Aragorn couldn't move. Everything was in slow-motion to him.

His body roared at him to pry open Boromir's mouth and ram his tongue down his throat, to pull away his wet underwear and grind his crotch down against his. Aragorn also wanted to kill him. _How dare he_ attempt to expose me so publicly? Such a crime can not go unpunished.

Time flashed back to reality with a vengance.

Aragorn pushed Boromir away roughly, wiping his mouth with his arm quickly. He gave Boromir an angry and embarressed look.

Boromir sat back on his knees, shivering and breathing heavily through his mouth. He stared at Aragorn, seeing only him, desiring his approval.

"What has come over you?" Aragorn demanded, disgusted. He stood up and towered over Boromir, staring down at him as one might stare at a mangy dog.

Boromir looked away. "I'm sorry, I... I suppose I was just... glad." He swallowed and glanced at the strangers around him before looking back at Aragorn. "Glad you're alright," he added weakly.

Legolas flicked his eyes from Aragorn to Boromir and back again.

"That was terribly inaproppriate," Legolas said.

"Indeed," Aragorn agreed.

Legolas sighed with relief, happy that Aragorn did not contradict him.

"Forgive me," Boromir muttered, hanging his head.

Gimli swore a dirty oath to a dead Dwarven king, turning away and shaking his head.

"You were right again, Pippin," Merry whispered to Pippin behind a grimey hand.

Pippin rubbed his face, feeling old. He didn't respond.

Frodo stared at Boromir strangely, as if seeing him clearly for the first time.

_Was he ever truely after the Ring? _Frodo wondered curiously.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Sam grumbled, clutching at his fatty stomach.

Aragorn went to his pile of clothes and armor and put them on, forcing on his pants when they clung to his wet legs.

Boromir stared at the ground, his breathing still rough, water dripping from his hair and forming a tiny puddle in front of his lap. _I cannot bear these emotions, _he thought miserably. I may be in love, and what a fool I am if that be true. What shall I do with myself, if I am too unstable to control my impulses? He glanced from under his thick, wet eyebrows and peered at the other members of the Fellowship. _Wait, _he realized. I beat the Ring; it no longer calls for me. Surely I can beat this new challenge. How hard can it be to fall out of love?

Boromir stood up, the shamed red blaze gone from his cheeks. He held his chin high and did his very best not to limp as he went to his clothes and began dressing himself. I shall defeat this evil within me, he thought adamantly. And prove my worth once more to this Fellowship.

Aragorn ran the tip of his finger up the sheath of his sword, tying in to his belt once he reached his waist. He longed to watch Boromir dress, but he resisted. He stomped his wet feet into his leather boots and went to the water. He filled his flask and drank it, then filled it again. Aragorn looked down at the water for his reflection, but saw only the muddy bottom of the shore. He stayed squatted by the water for a moment, staring at the wide ripples across the lake, leading to the tumbling white waterfall.

He sighed and stood at last, turning around. His eyes rested on Frodo, who was watching Boromir closely as he finished strapping on his armor. Puzzled, and a bit jealous, Aragorn went to him.

"Are you alright, Frodo?" Aragorn asked.

Frodo flinched and looked at Aragorn shyly. "Yes," he said slowly. "I am just wondering about him. Why would he kiss you like that, after you two have been at such conflict with each other?"

Aragorn shrugged. "He was grateful I hadn't drowned," he said easily. "Think nothing of it. The prospect of death can make a Man do insane things."

Frodo nodded, though not fully convinced.

Aragorn didn't know what else to say, so he walked off.

...

Aragorn sent the Dwarf to find lunch for everyone while he spoke to Boromir in private and Legolas watched the Hobbits.

"Take a walk with me," Aragorn said, holding out his hand.

Boromir raised his head. Wordlessly, he took Aragorn's hand and stood up.

They walked around the lake to the waterfall. There was a small section beneath the waterfall where people could walk under without getting much more than a light spray from the falls. It also drowned out any eavesdroppers, and hid them from view.

Aragorn walked to the belly of the waterfall, the rumbling groan of the water trembling the ground. He held out his hand and let a bit of the water run into his palm. Boromir stood a few feet away, watching Aragorn with down-cast eyes.

"Why did you kiss me?" Aragorn asked at last, still playing with the water.

"My Lord?" Boromir stepped closer, unable to hear him over the water's roar.

Aragorn faced him.

"Why did you kiss me?" He repeated, his eyes hard.

Boromir balked, expecting the question, but still not knowing his answer.

"I was afraid," Boromir answered at last.

"Afraid?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Aragorn stepped closer.

Boromir gazed into his eyes, his heart racing.

"I feared you had drowned," he said quietly.

Aragorn stared at him, wanting more. And Boromir gave it to him.

"I feared I had killed you." Boromir looked down, a strangled sound escaping his lips.

"And?" Aragorn pressed.

Boromir hesitated, his lips trembling. He looked at Aragorn uncertainly.

"I did not wish for you to die," Boromir told him. _What does he want from me?_

"Truely?" Aragorn tested.

"Aye, truely." Boromir said instantly.

"So you were not hoping to expose me? To show the others I had violated and abused you?" Aragorn demanded, suddenly angry. He stepped up to Boromir so their faces were inches apart.

"Of course not!" Boromir cried._ I never even considered it. What would I gain from that kind of treachery?_

"_Why_ not?"

_Why?_ "What do you mean?" Boromir quiried.

"_Why _didn't you want them to know? _Why _would you not try to protect yourself? _Why _are you still even in this Fellowship? _Why don't you look me in the eye?"_

Boromir tensed at the harshness of Aragorn's words. He thought he might cry, but he bit his lip to prevent that.

"It is not my desire," Boromir said carefully. "To cause you harm, even if preventing yours may befall it on myself."

"I see." Aragorn paused thoughtfully. Suddenly he drew a dagger from his belt. He pressed the tip of the blade to his left wrist, pushing in lightly until a drop of blood appeared.

Boromir's eyes widened. He stared at Aragorn with desperate, pleading eyes.

"Would you allow me to bleed myself to death?" Aragorn asked darkly, pushing the blade in deeper.

Boromir winced and jerked the dagger from Aragorn's hand, tossing it behind him.

Then Aragorn was pressing his wrist into Boromir's cheek, the hot blood running down his arm and soaking into his clothes. Boromir gently clasped his hand around Aragorn's cut, ceasing the blood-flow. Aragorn leaned forward and licked the blood off of Boromir's face, much like an animal. Boromir trembled, an oddly pleasurable feeling.

Boromir lowered Aragorn's wrist and bangaged it with a strip of cloth from his shirt, ripping it off. He let him go and stared at him quietly.

"You're an odd creature, Boromir, son of Denethor," Aragorn said, amused.

"If you say I am, then I must be," Boromir replied.

Aragorn frowned, as if disappointed. He looked back at the waterfall.

"Do not approach me thus again," he said. "If I want to touch you, then I will touch you. But you, you must keep your parts to yourself."

Boromir bowed his head, then, realizing Aragorn wasn't looking, said, "As you wish."

Aragorn sighed heavily.

"Go help the Dwarf find supper."

Boromir left him alone.


	15. Chapter 15

The evening fell faster than anticipated, so they made camp at the edge of the woods by the lake.

Gimli skinned rabbits while Sam made a broth out of wilds herbs and dried vegetables from his pack. Boromir gathered firewood, wanting the alone-time. Frodo sat with Merry and Pippin by the growing fire. Aragorn cleaned his sword and daggers methodically. Legolas kept watch.

The camp was oddly quiet, but it was quite relaxing. The low rumble of the waterfall, the twitchy crackle of the fire, and the soft hiss of wind through the grass and trees kept everyone's mood mellow and apathetic.

Boromir brought back an armful of wood, placing it on the ground at Aragorn's feet, where some wood had already been gathered. He glanced at Aragorn, but he was not looking at him. Boromir went back into the woods, venturing a bit further than before. He found a wide-enough tree and pissed on it. Vaguely, he wondered if the Ring would expand itself to fit around his penis, like it had sized itself to Isildor's finger. Boromir shook his head, having embarressed himself. He put his member away and wandered around in the fading light of dusk. His fingers brushed lightly against bark and leaves as he walked, his hand outstretched like a blind man.

I am nothing but a hinderance to these people, he thought bitterly. Did my father not raise me to be a leader of Men? I am here to bring the Ring to Gondor, but... That is not going to happen, not with Aragorn leading the way. I cannot deny my father, but I cannot usurp the King, either. _What should I do? _He paused, leaning his shoulder against a thick oak tree, rubbing his face with his rough hands.

"I am helpless," he whispered sadly.

He finished gathering the firewood and returned back to camp.

...

Aragorn looked up, seeing Boromir approach. Aragorn watched him, sheathing his now-clean sword. Boromir caught his eye and looked down, bringing the wood over and stacking it neatly with the rest.

Frodo watched them, observing their silent interaction, trying to decipher any hidden meaning.

Gimli, Sam, Merry, and Pippin huddled around the hot pot hanging above the fire. Sam stirred the stew slowly with a ladle from his pack, breathing deeply in the steam as it rose with its sweet aromas.

"Can I taste?" Merry asked, elbowing Pippin out of the way as he scooted closer to Sam.

"Hold your horses; it's got to simmer!" Sam snapped at him as Gimli excitedly tossed in some strips of rabbit meat.

"Alright, fine..." Merry grumbled. "Just hungry, is all."

Pippin licked his lips, watching the stew bubble and swirl with deliciousness. Then something distracted him out of the corner of his eye, and he turned.

Boromir was squatted in front of the firewood, a few logs still in his arms. Aragorn stood in front of him, his hand on Boromir's shoulder. They were staring at each other. Just staring.

Legolas was casually sweeping his gaze around the camp, then he saw Frodo, staring, and he saw Pippin, staring as well, seemingly at the same thing. Frowning, he followed the invisable line and saw Aragorn and Boromir.

Immediately, he felt intrusive_. I'm not supposed to be seeing this_, Legolas thought nervously. Do they think no one can see them? But he would not look away.

Boromir gazed up at Aragorn, frozen by his light touch. Aragorn stared down at him, a small smile on his lips.

"We only live because of the other," Aragorn said at last, his voice distant.

Boromir didn't understand. He waited for Aragorn to continue.

"I saved your life, and you saved mine," Aragorn explained.

Boromir shook his head. "I didn't-"

"Shhh," Aragorn pressed down hard on Boromir's shoulder, pushing him off balance so that he dropped to his knees. "Don't argue with me," he warned.

Boromir looked away.

Aragorn felt like he was being watched, because he was, and glanced around. Pippin and Legolas quickly acted like they were looking at something else, but Frodo met Aragorn's eye. Aragorn straightend up and walked straight to him.

"Frodo," Aragorn said as he went to him.

"Yes?" Frodo stood up, feeling uncomfortably warm, and not because he had been in front of the fire.

Aragorn hesitated, then flicked the hair from his eyes and spoke. "Is the Ring safe?"

Frodo placed his hand over his heart, where, beneath his shirt, the Ring hung from a silver chain. "Yes." He nodded.

"Good," Aragorn looked around, then back at Frodo, his eyes hardening. "Let us keep it that way. Never show it to anyone."

Frodo frowned._ I know this, _he thought. Why would he warn me of something so childish, as if I have not held the Ring before? He nodded again.

Aragorn smiled grimly at Frodo and rustled his hair playfully. "Good little Hobbit," he said.

Frodo smiled only until Aragorn turned away.

...

Some time in the night, Legolas went to relieve Aragorn from his watch. As Legolas came over, Aragorn started to walk away, towards his blankets, but Legolas touched his arm. Aragorn looked at him.

"Let us speak for a moment," Legolas said gently.

"As you wish," Aragorn sat back down.

Legolas didn't want to be standing over Aragorn, so he sat down in front of him.

"It is my understanding that your friendship with Boromir goes beyond that of yours and mine," he began, his voice stretched a bit thin.

"Is the Elf jealous?" Aragorn asked bluntly, snorting.

"Please listen. No," Legolas said irritably. "Friends are good, but allowing a friendship to turn into an obession is no healthy thing."

"Excuse me?" Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

"I say this as your friend: I don't want you to suffer because of a impulsive act."

"What are you implying?" Aragorn growled defensively.

Legolas hesitated. _Dare I be straight-forward?_ What if I am mistaken? He took a deep, steadying breath.

"You cannot give the Ring to Boromir," Legolas said.

Aragorn blinked. "What?" _Why would I?_

"I hope you remember why we joined together in the first place," Legolas stressed. "To _destroy_ that creation, not-"

"Yes, yes," Aragorn waved at Legolas's face dismissively.

Legolas wavered briefly. "He is a strong-willed Man," he went on. "You cannot allow him to bend your mind. His is already so damaged by the Ring's influence. You mustn't let him corrupt you."

Aragorn bobbed his head. "You're right," he said agreeably. "He is not to be trusted." He stood up again.

"I did not say that," Legolas said quietly, watching him. "I just want you to be cautious."

"I understand." Aragorn dusted a dead leaf from his pants. Legolas stood up beside him.

"Wake me again before dawn," Aragorn said suddenly. He went to the fire and laid down.

Legolas sighed under his breath. _"Good."_

...

Boromir laid with closed eyes, his thoughts keeping him awake. The Ring is so near, he thought. Though I no longer want it, it is just for that reason that _I must have it._ Gondor cannot survive the imminent war to come if it has no weapon to defend itself with...

Aragorn couldn't sleep. If he had known Boromir was awake, Aragorn would have taken him away, beneath the waterfall once more, and made violent love to him. But, in his absence, Aragorn was forced to rub himself off under the cover of blankets. After he pleasured himself, he felt guilty, dirty, and violated by his own hands; for he had thought of Boromir instead of his future wife.

Pippin didn't sleep well, either. He was plagued by a dreadful nightmare. He was in the Shire, in his home with his family. At first, everything was good. He drank pints of ale with Merry and Frodo and Sam, his parents and other relatives surrounding him with laughter and music. But then a shadow flooded the room and it became too dark to see. Pippin tried to find a lantern, but grabbed something cold and wet instead. Suddenly he could see through the blackness, and he saw his hand buried in the mutilated, bleeding chest of Merry. He withdrew and screamed, but his voice made no sound. Something pushed him from behind and he turned. Aragorn was there, pointing his sword at his face. Pippin kept apologizing, promising he'd never do it again, never! Then Aragorn grinned, his face stretching unnaturally to accommodate his massive lips, and he stabbed Pippin in the stomach.

He awoke with a start, sitting up suddenly. His stomach clenched and he wrapped his arms around his belly, forgetting his dream instantly, as hot cramps shot through him.

"Curse Gimli's cooking," he groaned. He saw it was morning, and that Aragorn was already up and walking around. Quickly, Pippin lept from his blankets and sprinted into the woods before Aragorn could see him, finding a tree and pulling down his pants.

...

They moved on in the early morning. The sun was bright and spraying its orange rays across a thin line of wispy clouds.

Aragorn lead the way with Boromir behind him, then the Hobbits, the Dwarf, and the Elf.

Legolas watched Boromir and Aragorn closely, happily thinking his little reprimand had done some good.


	16. Chapter 16

The morning passed away quietly into afternoon, and presently the eight members of the Fellowship made it to the edge of a great expanse of forest.

They paused before it, staring into the deep and dark and lonliness the massive trees provided.

Gnarled, bent, oppressive. The trees were unwelcoming, and they reached down with their long thorny branches in an attempt to block out any who might try to enter.

Aragorn, unfazed, stepped forward, then turned to watch the others.

Frodo shied away, but Sam came up behind him and gently placed his hands on his back to keep him still.

"I don't want to go in there, Sam," Frodo whispered hoarcely.

"I know, Mr. Frodo," Sam said sadly, patting him apologetically.

"We'll keep you safe, Master Hobbit," the Dwarf said boldly to hide his own distress.

They went into the forest of Fangorn.

The trees towered above them instantly. Thick and dark and covered in moss, they stretched towards the skies with their many weeping arms and blocked out any rays of sunlight. Leaves littered the ground in wet brown clumps and hidden sticks broke mutely beneath them as the Fellowship moved past.

The woods were quiet. Unusually so.

Though he would not admit it, Aragorn was deathly afraid. _Something is following me, _he thought. Still he urged the others to follow him, refusing to show his apprehension.

Frodo stayed right behind Aragorn, so Sam stayed right beside Frodo. Merry and Pippin followed behind them, then Gimli, Boromir, and Legolas.

Legolas scanned the trees, sensing Ents hiding nearby. As they went deeper, he also sensed a heavily oppressive presence, unlike the old souls of the Ents. Something much more powerful.

Gimli felt it as well, demonstrating its effect by dragging his feet and hanging his head, as if a cumbersome weight were on his shoulders.

The Hobbits stayed pressed in a nervous huddle behind Aragorn, feeling safer when they were all together.

Legolas went to Aragorn and walked slowly beside him, whispering in his ear.

"I fear we are not alone in these woods," Legolas said anxiously.

"We aren't," Aragorn answered tersley.

"Perhaps we should-"

"I know what I am doing!" Aragorn snapped. He glared at Legolas from the corner of his eye. "Please do not question me."

Legolas hesitated, then inclined his head and stopped walking. Aragorn walked by, and everyone followed. Legolas sighed, then followed again at the rear.

...

An hour passed. Then two. The woods grew darker. It seemed as if they would never make it through. The air grew cold and damp.

Sam removed his cloak and draped it over Frodo's shoulders.

Boromir fastened a torch from a fallen branch and lit it. Like moths, the Fellowship gathered to the small flame with wide eyes, seeking warmth and comfort from the orange, snapping glow.

Aragorn snatched the torch from his hands and gave him a nasty look. Then he turned away, raised the torch high, and walked on.

Aragorn felt exposed, naked, even, as he held the torch. Look at me, the torch seemed to say. I'm right here, don't you see me? Aragorn looked around nervously, feeling like he were being watched closer than before.

A loud thump shook the ground nearby.

Everyone turned.

A giant tree blinked its eyes, which glistened with orange from the torch-light, raising its root-covered foot to take another step.

Merry opened his mouth to scream, but Pippin clapped his hand over his mouth.

"It's an Ent," Legolas said in awe.

"You're trespassing!" The Ent roared, speaking slowly, dragging out each sylible. He swung a massive branchy arm at Frodo, who screamed and dove out of the way.

"Hey!" Sam snarled, drawing his pathetic sword. "Leave him alone, you-"

The Ent raised his foot to kick Sam, but Legolas stepped in front of him, raising his hands.

Boromir drew his sword, ready to attack, but paused when he saw Legolas.

"Please, stop!" Legolas insisted.

The Ent froze, his foot inches from crushing Legolas's face. A leaf brushed against his nose. Legolas held still.

"Please, Great Ent, let us pass through these woods. We mean you no harm." Legolas said gently.

"An Elf that travels with Orcs?" The Ent growled, towering over Legolas. "Shame on your race! You come with your steel and fire..." Gimli glanced at his axe shamefully. "Kill my brothers and sisters," the Ent went on, "And think you can-"

"We're not Orcs: We're just travelers!" Merry cried.

"Travelers?" The Ent turned its head towards Merry suspiciously.

Merry stepped back, bumping into Pippin who instictively grabbed onto his arm. "Yes," Merry said uncertainly.

"We need to pass through these woods. Please, do not hinder us any further." Aragorn said determinedly, raising his torch threateningly.

The Ent narrowed its eyes hatefully.

"Go," it thundered. "But I and my brothers will be watching you."

Legolas bowed. "Thank you," he grovelled.

The Ent huffed.

"Come," Aragorn said, turning away. The Fellowship followed him, staying closer than before.

...

They made camp soon after that, for the Hobbits were exhausted. They were not used to being in such dark confining places as these woods.

Legolas offered to keep watch, and nobody argued.

A small fire was lit and remained burning through the night. The Fellowship slept in a rough circle surrounding it, while Legolas sat a few feet away, alert, yet distant.

He was angry with Aragorn for being so disrespectful to the Ent, though he did his best not to show his emotion. _He was only trying to protect his forest, _he thought bitterly. Legolas sighed. _I wish I could have known his name. _He remained awake for the rest of the night, gazing quietly off into the deep, dark, woods, listening to ancient whispers of the talking trees, wondering what they could mean.

...

The next morning, the sun blared from the East, shooting green and yellow rays through the trees. Legolas woke Aragorn, who woke the others, though Aragorn deliberately didn't wake Boromir. Legolas noticed this, but did nothing.

Soon everyone was up, their belongings were packed, and the remaining bits of warm ashes were buried under wet soil.

Boromir awoke at last to the sound of Sam sneezing. He raised his head and looked around, then quickly scrambled to his feet as he saw everyone was ready to move on except him.

Aragorn looked at him with a disapproving eye, and Boromir lowered his eyes and folded his blanket.

Almost an hour later, Aragorn could see the trees were beginning to thin. His shoulders relaxed and he allowed himself to breathe easier. _We're almost out, _he thought.

Legolas went to Aragorn, speaking quietly in Elfish.

"_We must hurry. Something is approaching. Something very powerful_."

Aragorn abruptly stopped walking to stare at him.

"Where?" He asked bluntly.

The Hobbits huddled close, their eyes wet and big as they gazed at Aragorn nervously. Gimli spat on a tree root that almost tripped him. Boromir ran his fingertip along the hilt of his sword, feeling antsy.

Legolas hesitated. His eyes scanned the area. Slowly, dramatically, his raised his hand and pointed.

"It is the White Wizard," Legolas said, his eyes widening.

"We will not run," Aragorn hissed, drawing his sword.

Frodo shrank back, alarmed. Sam put his hand on Frodo's shoulder, drawing his sword. "Don't worry, Mr. Frodo," he said automatically. Frodo didn't listen.

Boromir went to Aragorn's side and drew his sword wordlessly. Legolas readied his bow, and Gimli hefted his axe.

"Stay behind us, Hobbits," Gimli grunted.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other before unsheathing their own swords.

Suddenly from the South a blinding white light appeared, brighter than the sun on a cloudless mid-day. A figure outlined in white could be seen from within the light, but it was impossible to see who it was.

Legolas shot an arrow, but the figure batted it away like a toy. Gimli threw a small axe, but it was easily deflected. Aragorn ran forward with his sword, but then his sword burst into red flames and Aragorn had to let go. Boromir let out a war cry and tried to hack into the figure, but it knocked him away and set his sword aflame as well.

Legolas and Gimli waited to see what the figure would do next, and Aragorn kept trying to watch it, but the light was hurting his eyes and he had to look away. The Hobbits smushed together, backing up slowly as they realized they were defenseless. Boromir, however, refused to give up so easily.

He slung the shield from his back and ran at the White Wizard, planning to use the edge of the shield like an axe and hack him mercilessly. Before he could, howerever, the figure reached out and seized Boromir's shield and wouldn't let go, but neither would Boromir. Boromir clung to the shield with both hands, with the Wizard holding on it with mere fingers. The shield lit up with orange then red heat, burning through Boromir's gloves and scorching his flesh. Boromir grit his teeth and glared into the fierce white light, digging his burning, blistering, bleeding fingers hard into the shield. Suddenly arms wrapped around Boromir's waist and pulled him away. Boromir fell back and landed on top of Legolas, who let him go, and they both stood up.

Aragorn felt a twing of concern seeing Boromir's bleeding hands, but then Boromir closed his hands into fists to hide it, and Aragorn quickly tossed his feelings aside.

"I sense much enmity within this band of travelers..." The White Wizard said slowly, his voice deep and boomingly loud. "Tell me, why is there such detestation?" The figure asked.

"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded.

Boromir recovered from his aching hands and stood beside Aragorn once more.

Frodo stared at the figure, his hand pressing tightly into his chest, onto the Ring. _I know that voice, _he thought wildly.

"Show yourself!" Aragorn ordered.

"Gandalf!" Frodo burst out, running forward.

"Frodo!" Sam cried.

The light vanished from around the figure, and the White Wizard became visable. Indeed, it was Gandalf. He spread his arms and Frodo crashed into him. They hugged.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn said in disbelief.

Gimli gasped. Legolas bowed humbly. Boromir was dumbstruck: He could only stare.

Frodo sobbed quietly into Gandalf's white robes.

"Oh, Frodo," Gandalf said softly, squeezing him to him. "I am glad you are well."

Sam ran over and hesitated only for a moment before throwing his arms around Gandalf. Swords clattered to the ground as Merry and Pippin rushed over and hugged onto him as well.

Gimli laughed like an infant pleased upon seeing that a piece of paper can make a rustling sound. He grinned through his massively thick and obnoxious beard. "Gandalf," he cooed.

Gandalf patted the Hobbits each in turn so they would let him go. Then he raised his eyes and looked at the others, searching their faces.

Legolas, astounded and pleased. Gimli, giddy and confused. Aragorn, perplexed and irritated. Boromir, degraded and servile. The Hobbits, exultant and tearful.

Gandalf felt something strange seeing Aragorn's eyes. There was a darkness that had not always been there. His eyes flicked to Boromir's, and, though Boromir looked down, Gandalf still caught what was in his eyes: Fear.

What has happened to you two? Gandalf wondered sadly.


	17. Chapter 17

After the required celebrations that Gandalf was alive were over, the whole Fellowship moved on.

They made it to the edge of the woods in no time, with Gandalf leading the way. Before they went out into the bright open fields, Gandalf pulled Aragorn aside and told him they needed to talk. Not feeling like arguing, Aragorn went with him.

"Yes?" Aragorn asked stiffly as he followed.

But, much to Aragorn's impatience, Gandalf didn't speak until they were out of ear-shot of everyone, including the Elf.

At last, near a tall skinny tree as furry as Gimli, Gandalf turned to face him.

Gandalf stared deeply into Aragorn's eyes, searching his expression, emotions, and thoughts, trying to discern what was different about him.

Aragorn waited.

"What have you done to him?" Gandalf asked at last.

"Who?" Aragorn asked blandly.

"Boromir."

Aragorn frowned. "What? Nothing," he said quickly, then added, "Why? Why do you ask?"

Gandalf moved closer, and his beard would have brushed against Aragorn's chin if Aragorn had not involuntarily stepped back.

"There is pain inside of him," Gandalf said sorrowfully. "Not unlike Frodo's pain."

Aragorn looked away. "What is that to me?" He said, keeping his tone flat. "He is a Man unable to resist the Ring." He shrugged, then went on. "I keep him in check, so that he does not fall."

"I do not believe it is the Ring that torments him," Gandalf contended.

Aragorn said nothing, watching a small stick fall from a tree, smacking odd leaves as it went.

Gandalf turned his eyes back towards where they had left the others. He could see them through the trees, and, if he wanted to, he could hear them despite the distance. He focused on them, his eyes widening.

Boromir was standing at the edge of the shadows, right on the other side of the trees, yet not quite in the fields. His eyes were soft and grey and vacant, but he remained alert, listening for any foreign sounds. His right index finger and middle finger were pressed lightly into his lips, and he fiddled with them absently.

Frodo and Sam were sitting with their backs against a tree, eating fresh mushrooms and wild plants that Legolas had gathered.

Pippin sat next to Merry, who was sitting in front of Sam dividing up the mushrooms. Pippin wasn't interested in food. He was watching Boromir.

Legolas stood at attention, sensing someone watching. Then suddenly, his eyes met Gandalf's, and Gandalf quickly brought his awareness back to Aragorn.

Aragorn was staring at him, giving him an odd look.

Gandalf cleared his throat, and Aragorn flinched but wasn't sure why.

"I may not understand your relationship with that Man, but I will," Gandalf warned darkly.

Aragorn stared him down. "May we move on, now?" He asked.

"Yes," Gandalf said slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We should go to Rohan. Theodin is under the influence of Saruman, and I may be able to help him."

"Can you not go alone?" Aragorn asked suddenly.

Gandalf was surprised to hear Aragorn speaking this way, but he hid it well. "Rohan is a safe place at the moment," Gandalf explained. "It would do everyone well to rest, and re-stock provisions. We may also get a few horses."

Aragorn nodded shortly. "Fine." He stared walking back to the others, and Gandalf took a deep breath and followed after him.

...

Gandalf and Aragorn rejoined the others and told them of his plan to go to Rohan.

Aragorn remained silent while Gandalf spoke, and said nothing afterwards.

Gimli agreed instantly, excited to visit a kingdom and possibly eat a grand feast.

Legolas was hesitant. "Would it not be best to continue on?" He asked. "Orcs are on the move, and we could easily be spotted crossing the fields to Rohan's gates."

"Have you forgotten who I am?" Gandalf asked deliberately, turning towards Legolas and giving him a threatening and also hurt expression.

Legolas relented. "Forgive me," he muttered.

"What say you, Boromir?" Gandalf asked, studying the Man's reaction. "You've been quiet all this time."

Boromir cast a fleeting glance at Aragorn, seeking guidance, but Aragorn turned away.

"Aye." Boromir forced his tone to sound confidant. "Rohan will be a good resting ground."

Gandalf eyed him longer than necessary, and for once, Boromir held his gaze.

"Let us go, then." Gandalf turned and, picking up his staff, marched out of the dark woods into the sunlight.

...

The sun was high in the sky and brightening the world with scorching rays of invisable heat, leaving shimmers on the horizon. The grass was green, but dry. It crunched under-foot, raising tiny wisps of dust from the earth.

The Nine traveled quickly, but after two hours, their skin wept salty tears beneath their thick, heavy clothes and armor. They passed around flasks of water, which Gandalf chilled with a simple spell, until all the water was deplinished.

"Mr. Gandalf, sir..." Sam was the first to complain. "Can we stop, please? Frodo can't take much more of this, you see?"

Gandalf looked back.

Frodo was holding onto Sam's shoulder, walking like a zombie, with sweat running down his face and dripping from his nose and back into his gaping mouth. Sam was drenched with sweat but he held firm so that Frodo would not fall.

Merry and Pippin were dragging their feet, bumping into each other as they stumbled on nothing and shoving each other angrily, the heat raising their tempers.

Legolas appeared fine, holding his head high like a rabbit and enjoying the light breeze.

Gimli was huffing loudly and sputtering from behind his soaking wet beard, shaking his axe in the air as he used it as a walking stick.

Gandalf looked beside him.

The two Men were there, side-by-side, sweating, yet refusing to show the extent of their exaustion.

Gandalf sighed. He was hot, yes. The thick, white robes he wore were by no means moisture-wicking. But the problem was, they were in the middle of practically nowhere. And, though Rohan was not too far off, the nearest shelter from the heat was back the way they had come, in the woods, but Gandalf refused to turn around.

"We must go on to Rohan," he said loudly.

"But Gandalf-"

"Do you see a rock to hide behind, Samwise Gamgee?" Gandalf demanded, whirling on him.

"No, but-"

"Then we must keep going!" Gandalf finalized.

So they did. For as long as they could.

Frodo was the first to fall. Sam joined him, spuring anyone's attempts to get him back up.

"This cannot go on, Gandalf," Legolas said wearily, his face slick and pale.

Merry and Pippin sat down by Frodo and Sam, hanging their heads down between tucked-up knees.

Gandalf bit his lip anxiously, but no one could tell from his beard. He looked around, then it dawned on him. He raised his face to the wind, and whistled a sweet, clear tune.

As he finished, Gandalf dropped to his knees. Legolas sank down beside him, asking if he was alright. Gandalf hadn't realized how tired he was. He nodded vigorously and shook Legolas away.

Taking his staff, he rose again. "We will be joined soon by an old friend of mine," Gandalf said fondly.

The Hobbits looked around curiously. Aragorn tapped his thumb against his hilt suspiciously. Aragorn turned sharply to see Boromir staring at him. Aragorn resisted the terribly strong urge to strike him in the mouth, instead giving him a hard, hateful look. Boromir sensed his tension and hung his head, sighing deeply.

"Who?" Gimli blurted out.

Faintly, musically, the welcoming neigh of a horse rang out, dancing in the air like fireflies at midnight.

"Shadowfax." Gandalf smiled.

Heads turned, and eyes beheld the sight: A great white horse thundered across the plains, almost glowing in the light of the sun, towards them. Its massive hoofs beat the ground in rolling precision, its pure white mane flying out behind it like a kite on the wind.

"Golly," Merry whispered.

The horse whinnied and trotted to a halt in front of Gandalf. Gandalf smiled and patted it affectionately.

"You must carry the Hobbits for me now," Gandalf told the horse. "Take them straight to Rohan. Take care that they do not slip off."

The horse nickered softly.

"Aragorn," Gandalf said suddenly, gesturing to the Hobbits.

Aragorn went to Frodo and picked him up.

Boromir tried to pick up Sam, but Sam ignored him and lept to his feet, following Aragorn. Boromir dejectedly helped Merry and Pippin to their feet, which they accepted.

Aragorn placed Frodo on the horse.

"Hold tight, Frodo," he said in a low voice.

Frodo wearily stretched his arms out and wrapped them around the horse's neck.

Aragorn picked up Sam and put him behind Frodo, then put on Merry and Pippin. He stepped back once they were all situated and regarded them like a piece of abstract art.

"Listen, Hobbits," Gandalf went in front of the horse so he could see all the Hobbits' faces. "Once in Rohan, you mustn't tell anyone of our quest, especially not the King. The King is under Saruman's spell, and, as long as he doesn't see you until I arrive, everything will be fine. Just stay low. There's a blacksmith shop in the town with an inn above it. Wait in one of the rooms until I find you."

Frodo's eyes lolled. He seemed as if he were going to pass out.

Gandalf frowned. "Understand?" He asked sharply.

"Sure thing, Gandalf," Merry said quickly.

"This horse knows where to go, right?" Sam asked. "I mean, 'cause I don't know how to get to Rohan..."

"Shadowfax knows." Gandalf nodded.

Pippin, who was clinging to Merry at the edge of the horse's back, said nothing. _I'm gonna fall, _he though miserably.

"Go now," Gandalf told the horse.

The horse tossed its head lightly and began to trot, then quickly sped up into a gallop. The Hobbits hugged tightly to one another, bouncing up and down comically.

Legolas watched them until they went over a hill and out of his sight. He turned to Gandalf wordlessly.

Gandalf glanced at him, then straightened up.

"Let's go," he said shortly. "We must hurry."

And onwards they went.


	18. Chapter 18

Aragorn began to tremble inside.

With the Hobbits gone, Aragorn felt like a father who finally got the kids out of the house. He stared at Boromir hungrily, blushing under a wave of heat.

Gandalf cannot know of this, he realized, and the threat of being discovered turned him on. He looked down and wiped the sweat from his eyes and the drool from his lips.

"Aragorn," Legolas said gently, but Aragorn started. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Aragorn said shortly. "It's just... Hot."

Boromir caught his eye, and Aragorn had to look away.

"May we rest, Gandalf?" Boromir asked suddenly.

Aragorn shot a warning look at Boromir, but he didn't look at him.

"What for?" Gimli grunted at Boromir. "There's not an inch of water or a drop of shade. You get up and you may never lie down again..." He coughed and shook his head, feeling dizzy.

Gandalf sighed and turned to Boromir.

"The Hobbits may already be in Rohan," he explained tiredly. "We cannot leave them by theirselves for much longer."

"Exactly," Aragorn said, shoving Boromir unnecessacarily out of his way. Boromir slank back, but moved closer to Gandalf.

"Was it even wise to send them off?" Boromir probed.

"Yes, I believe so." Gandalf rubbed his face and twisted his beard, ringing out the sweat as he spoke.

_How dare you_ speak without my say so, Aragorn thought, burning holes through Boromir with his eyes.

"What would you do, if, instead of trotting into Rohan, they were met by a band of Orcs?" Boromir went on, his voice lazy, yet tinted with anger.

_Shut up,_ Aragorn hissed in his mind. His blood began to boil with rage.

"They were not," Legolas said instantly.

"But what if they were?" Boromir pressed, walking a bit ahead of Legolas so he could turn and look at him as he walked. "Would you regret it, then, giving the Ring to a mere childish Hobbit instead of placing it under the watchful eyes of Gondor?"

Aragorn couldn't stand it. As Gandalf stopped walking and turned around to answer Boromir, Aragorn stomped over to Boromir and struck him across the mouth.

"Keep that vile tongue in-between those green teeth of yours!" He snapped, drawing his sword as Boromir fell to the ground. _I'll kill you, _Aragorn thought. _Speak, and I'll kill you._

Boromir calmly stared up at Aragorn, unflinching despite the sword pointing at his chest, blood dribbling out of his cracked, dry lips.

"Aragorn, put that away," Gandalf scolded, raising his staff.

"This Man must learn his place," Aragorn said, his eyes wide and his mouth sagging open. _Please say something... _His legs were shaking, but the sword was steady as he poked the tip of the steel blade into Boromir's shirt. Boromir didn't move. He kept his cold gray eyes on Aragorn's dark, dark brown ones.

"Aragorn!" Gandalf barked.

"Do not order_ me _around, Wizard!" Aragorn snapped, flinging his head back to squint venomously at Gandalf. "I am the King of Gondor, and I will do what I wish to my subjects."

Gimli, who had been next to unconsiousness, was now watching the spectical unfold with massive black eyes, his heart hammering with the heat and with excitement.

Legolas went and stood in front of Gandalf so he could look in Aragorn's eyes. _It's the heat, _Legolas thought. The heat is driving him mad.

"Aragorn," he began. "Just a bit further, and we will be in Rohan."

Aragorn glanced back at Boromir, then at Legolas.

"Can this not wait until then?" Legolas asked softly.

Aragorn sheathed his sword suddenly and started walking without a word.

Boromir stood up quietly.

Legolas looked him up and down, judging him spitefully, and turned to follow Aragorn.

Gandalf patted Gimli on the back and the two of them walked on together.

Boromir made sure no one was looking. He pressed the palm of his hand into his chest, feeling the rip where Aragorn's sword had pierced, and feeling his thrumming heartbeat.

...

The Hobbits rode into Rohan without any difficulties besides sore bottoms and aching legs. They explained to the guards that they were friends of Gandalf, and they were allowed inside the gates.

After a bit of searching, they found the blacksmith shop and left the horse outside as they went in.

Swords and shields and armor adorned the walls of the shop. A great fire-pit roared in the middle of the room, sending up crackling sparks of ash every few seconds. An anvil sat in the corner, and a man sat in front of it on a stool, polishing a helmet.

Frodo was still too out of it to speak, so Merry and Pippin pushed Sam towards the man. Sam hesitated, then called out; "Excuse me?"

The man looked up. He saw the Hobbits and frowned. "Yes?" He asked flatly, seeing them as children.

"We'd like to stay at your inn, until our friend arrives," Sam told him.

"That so?" The man stood up and tossed the helmet into a bucket of other helmets. It landed with a clang and the sound echoed metallically through the air.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "It's Gandalf, you see. He's wanting us to wait for him here until he comes along. He gave us his horse." He gestured back to the door.

The man glanced out the window and saw Shadowfax. He held back his surprise.

"Gandalf, you say?" The man droned.

The Hobbits nodded.

"Right, well you better go on up, then." The man took a key from a random cabinet and handed it to Sam. "Rooms are up them stairs. Your's is..." He grabbed Sam's hand and looked at the key. "Room six."

Sam withdrew. "Thanks," he said.

"Yep." The man stood staring at them until the Hobbits walked by and ran up the stairs.

There were only ten rooms upstairs. Five on one side of the hall, five on the other. Room six was to their right, so they unlocked the door and went inside.

In the room, there was one window, but it was small and covered with a thin, gray curtain. The light it let in revealed that there were three beds, two on one side one on the other, and a small table, with a lantern on it, with two chairs.

"Right," Sam rubbed his hands together. "Mr. Frodo, you have yourself a nice rest over there, and I'll go get you something to drink."

Merry helped Frodo over to the nearest bed. "What?" Merry asked as he pulled Frodo's boots off. "You're going out by yourself?"

"No," Frodo moaned weakly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't leave me, Sam..."

Sam went to his side. "Don't worry, Mr. Frodo," he whispered. "I'll come straight back. I promise."

"You can't go by yourself!" Merry told him.

"What if you get lost?" Pippin chimed in.

"Then come with me!" Sam said impatiently.

Pippin looked at Merry, who waved at him to go.

"Who, me?" Pippin pointed at himself.

"Yes!" Sam sighed.

"Go on, Pip," Merry urged.

Pippin sighed. "I was lookin' forward to a nap myself..."

He followed Sam to the door. Sam tossed the key to Merry.

"Keep it locked. We'll be right back." He said determinedly.

Merry nodded, walking to the door as Sam and Pippin went out.

"Oh!" Pippin turned around. Merry-"

Sam shut the door.

"Hey!" Pippin grumbled. "I wanted to tell him-"

"Just come on, will you?" Sam chided, walking down the hallway.

Pippin paused, staring at the door, hearing it lock.

"Be careful, Pippin!" Merry whispered through the wood.

Pippin grinned and chased after Sam, pretending he hadn't heard.

...

A few hours later, the Men, Wizard, Dwarf, and Elf walked through the gates of Rohan and into the city.

Asking random citizens, they found the nearest well, where they filled and drank and refilled their flasks.

"I never thought..." Gimli sputtered through mouthfuls of water. "That water could taste so good!"

Legolas smiled thinly, unamused.

Aragorn poured his flask over his head, then filled it and poured it down the front of his shirt. Gasping from the icyness, Aragorn felt refreshed and clear-headed at last. He drank deeply and rinsed the grit from his teeth.

Boromir drank and splashed his face and rubbed his eyes, his nerves twitching from being kept on-edge.

Gandalf swept his gaze across the quiet town.

"Perhaps it would be best for me to visit Theoden alone," he mused to himself.

"We cannot let you do that, Gandalf," Legolas said abruptly.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him curiously, but Legolas had nothing else to say.

"I agree," Gimli said. "Not with the Elf, just with what he said." He snorted, his idiocy becoming transparent even to him. "We'll stay with you in case there's a fight."

Boromir looked at Aragorn.

"We can meet with the Hobbits afterwards," Aragorn said uncertainly, more as if asking a question.

"Boromir will go wait with the Hobbits," Gandalf concluded. "So they are not alone."

_"What?" _Aragorn stepped towards Gandalf hotly.

Legolas studied Gandalf for a moment, then studied Boromir. He nodded agreeably.

"You remember where I told them to go?" Gandalf asked Boromir, who nodded.

No, no_, no._ "No, he cannot be alone with them." Aragorn shook his head violently.

"Have faith, Aragorn." Gandalf said. "Men are capable of many great things."

"_Great _does not mean _good_," Aragorn snapped.

Gandalf gave him a withering look.

"Go, Boromir," Gandalf ordered. "Keep the Hobbits together. Do not let them wander off."

Boromir started to walk off, but Aragorn seized him by the back of his hair and twisted him around to face him. Aragorn was suddenly quite out of breath, and he panted desperately in Boromir's face.

"You know what will happen, don't you? You know. Don't you?_ Don't you?"_ Aragorn shook him emphatically, and Boromir winced but didn't resist.

"Yes," Boromir answered gently.

_"I'll kill you, I swear I will,"_ Aragorn hissed, his mouth inches from Boromir's ear, his lips prickling against Boromir's rough beard.

Boromir said nothing.

"Aragorn!" Gandalf called.

Aragorn looked up to see Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas already on their way to the castle.

He looked back at Boromir, who smiled sweetly.

Aragorn glanced around and saw no one was watching, then he quickly kissed Boromir on the mouth, shoving his tongue between his lips. Instantly, he tasted rusty blood and dirt and felt the coldness from the water still on Boromir's tongue. His crotch lit itself on fire and he wanted to throw Boromir into the nearest barn and jump on him animal-style.

But... he didn't want the others to catch him. He shoved Boromir away by the hair and released him. Stumbling slightly, Boromir opened his eyes, and Aragorn was surprisingly pleased to see that Boromir had closed them. Aragorn licked his lips unconciously, relishing Boromir's taste.

"Go." Aragorn turned away. "But do not touch the Hobbits."

Boromir faded away like a shadow, and Aragorn jogged to catch up with Gandalf and the others.


	19. Chapter 19

Boromir found the blacksmith shop after a few minutes. He went inside, and instantly was struck by the heat of the fire-pit. Looking around, he gazed at the many beautiful weapons and armor and shields hanging from the walls and on shelves.

The blacksmith stood up and turned to Boromir.

"Can I help you, sir?" The man asked, wiping his greasy hands on his pants.

"Yes," Boromir looked at him. "I'm looking for four young Halflings. They were supposed to get a room here."

"Aye." The blacksmith nodded. "And who might you be, then?"

Boromir straightened up proudly. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the steward of Gondor. I have been charged with the task of protecting the Halflings on their journey."

The man stepped closer and examined Boromir.

"What of Gandalf?" He tested.

"He has some business to attend to before he can join us," Boromir answered.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"They're in room six, up them stairs," the man said, turning away and pointing.

Boromir went past him and up the stairs. He found room six and paused before it, listening. He heard a low voice, but couldn't understand it. He knocked lightly.

"Pippin? That you?" Merry's voice slipped through the door.

"Nay," Boromir began, but Merry interupted.

"Who's there?" Merry demanded, his voice on the edge of panic.

"Tis Boromir."

After a moment's hesitantion, Merry opened the door.

"Shhh," Merry hissed as Boromir came in the room. "Frodo's sleepin'."

Boromir looked around. Frodo was asleep in the first bed, his boots in the floor beside it. A wooden chair sat by the bed with a pillow on the seat. Merry's boots sat beneath the chair. All was still. Silent.

"Where are Sam and Pippin?" He asked.

"I don't know," Merry sighed, exasperated. "They_ should _be getting us some water and food, but I don't know."

Merry went and sat back down beside Frodo, looking down at him affectionately. Suddenly he looked at Boromir. "Oh, hey." He gestured. "Lock the door."

Boromir locked it. Then he took the flask from his bag and went to Merry, handing it to him.

Merry looked stunned. "Thanks," he said happily. He unscrewed it and drank deeply, then, wiping his mouth, he leaned over Frodo.

"Hey, Frodo," he whispered. "Want some water?"

Frodo's eyes labored open. His eyes were red and ringed with grey. He stared up sightlessly at Merry, blinking slowly until he could focus.

"What was that?" Frodo asked weakly.

"Water, Frodo." Merry handed him the flask.

Frodo took it, but couldn't keep his hands steady. Water sloshed onto his chest and soaked into the bedsheets. Merry held it for him, tilting it up into his mouth. Frodo drank greedily.

Boromir sat on the edge of the bed across from Frodo's, watching quietly. From where the water had soaked Frodo, Boromir could see the outline of the Ring through his wet clothes.

"Where... Where's Gandalf? Sam?" Frodo murmered, rolling his head against the pillow.

"They'll be here soon. Just rest now," Merry said gently.

Frodo closed his eyes and slipped away into a world of dizzy blackness.

"Perhaps," Boromir began dryly. "You should rest, too. I'm here now. You will be safe."

Merry smiled at Boromir. "Yeah. Okay," he agreed.

He walked around Frodo's bed and climbed into the one beside it, kicking the covers until they were fluffed to his satisfaction. He rolled over onto his side, facing the window.

"'Night," he said after a moment.

Boromir waited until both the Hobbits' breaths were slow and deep. He licked his lips and glanced at the locked door. He looked at Frodo, so distraut even in his sleep. Yet the Ring stood out from behind his white shirt, and it called to Boromir like a bird calls to its chicks.

Now would be the time, he thought. To take it and return to Gondor.

Boromir rose to his feet, and, walking with careful silence, he crept towards Frodo.

...

Sam and Pippin were not having much luck.

It took them almost an hour of circling the town to realize they were going in a circle.

They found a well, but it was dry and there was a sign telling them where the new well was, but they didn't know where it was telling them to go.

They tried to ask where the well was, but people just frowned at them suspiciously, seeing their dirty clothes and unkempt hair, and told them to go home.

They found a woman selling meat pies, but, upon realizing they had no money, Sam and Pippin tried to trade with her. Sam offered her his prized pots and pans, but she flatly refused, seeing the dents and rust and burnt edges. Pippin offered her a dagger, but then she thought he was trying to rob her, and she screamed for help.

Guards came out of nowhere and seized them. Pippin struggled wildly and Sam tried to fight them off, but they were just not strong enough. The were punched into submittance and bound with their hands behind their backs and drug towards the castle.

...

Theoden was a sight to behold. His face was wrought with dark circles and deep lines, pale, sickly, and lifeless. His eyes raised to watch Gandalf come in, but his eyes were covered in a fog so that he could not see. He sat on the throne like a rotting sweet-potato, sagging and stinking and repulsive.

Grima Wormtongue, the spy, the theif, and the traitor, hunkered at the King's side and whispered lies into his ear.

"My Lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming," Grima hissed, watching Gandalf out of his peripheral vision.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King." Gandalf said boldly, moving foward with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli right behind him.

"He's not welcome," Grima insisted, his fingers knotting against the arm of Theoden's throne.

Theoden lifted his chin and rolled his eyes, struggling to see those who approached him.

"Why should I welcome you..." Theoden asked slowly. "Gandalf Stormcrow?" He looked at Grima for guidance.

"A just question, my Leige," Grimi bobbed his head, then stood up, walking toward Gandalf. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he said darkly, his voice laced with malice.

Guards began to gather, touching their weapons eagarly, and servants stood by with watchful eyes, ready to depart in case of an attack, for they could all sense the tension that was building within the White Wizard.

"Lathspell, I name him," Grima went on. "Ill news is an ill guest." He stopped right in front of Gandalf, his eyes narrow with malicious mirth.

"Be silent!" Gandalf snapped. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

Grima's eyes flicked with fear. He shrank back a step as Gandalf went on.

"I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." Gandalf's expression was hard, he flicked up his staff threateningly.

"His staff," Grima whispered, his eyes widening. He backed away. "I told you to take the Wizard's staff!"

Guards rushed forward, but Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli kept them away from Gandalf as he marched foward to Theoden.

"Theoden, son of Thengel!" He called out. Theoden watched him uncertainly, his head rolling on thin shoulders. "Too long have you sat in the shadows," Gandalf continued more gently.

Gimli went to where Grima was cowering in the floor and pressed his heavy boot into his chest. "I would stay still if I were you!" Gimli growled.

After sufficiently beating up the guards that dared to attack, Aragorn and Legolas resumed their place at Gandalf's side, giving warning looks at anyone who seemed like they wanted to try again.

"I release you from this spell..." Gandalf closed his eyes and raised his hand, focusing his powers to dispel Saruman from the King.

But Saruman began to laugh, his hold deeping on Theoden.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." Saruman grinned from far away in his tower, and Theoden mirrored him.

Gandalf glared at him as he began to laugh once more, then, dramatically, Gandalf threw off his grey cloak and revealed his brilliantly white one underneath.

Saruman gasped and Theoden shrunk to the back of his chair.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf told him, then jabbed his staff forward, walking up the steps to the throne.

Theoden moaned and winced and Saruman grew angry.

Suddenly Eowyn came out of nowhere and saw her uncle being tortured by a Wizard. She ran to him desperately. Aragorn glanced at her, then back at Gandalf, as she ran by.

"My Lord!" Eowyn cried out.

"Stay back, child!" Gandalf ordered.

"Eowyn, my dear," Theoden extended a shaking hand toward his niece. "Please..."

Eowyn took his hand, kneeling at his side. "Your hands are so cold," she said regrettably. She turned to Gandalf, who was forced to lower his staff.

"Why do you hurt him so? He is sick, can't you tell?" She demanded, tears filling her eyes.

"Eowyn, you know me. I am your friend. I will not harm the King." Gandalf said gently.

"Do not listen to him," Theoden grumbled. "He is bewitched by Saruman!"

"Aragorn!" Gandalf roared angrily.

Aragorn came over and seized Eoywyn by the waist, hauling her away.

"No, no!" She wailed. "Guards, stop them!"

The guards hesitated.

Grima turned his face out from under Gimli's foot and screamed; "Yes! Stop them! Kill them all!"

Gimli kicked him in the mouth and Grima instantly went to sleep.

All eyes went to Gandalf.

Gandalf thrust his staff at Theoden, pinning him back against the chair.

"Be gone," he ordered.

"Rohan is mine," Theoden snarled.

"That will never be so," Gandalf retorted, twisting his staff.

Theoden groaned and struggled against invisable bonds. His eyes searched desperately around the room, and came to rest of Grima Wormtongue, unconcious and worthless beneath the boot fo a Dwarf. He yelled with frustration.

With one final jerk of his staff, Gandalf forced Saruman out of the King at last.

...

After a few moments, the King returned to normal. Before anything else could happen, however, the great doors were thrown open, filling the throne room with a bright jet of light.

Four guards came in, shoving Sam and Pippin forward.

Gandalf whirled around.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.

"Gandalf!" Cried Pippin hopefully.

"Quiet, you!" A guard barked. Pippin shut up.

Another guard spoke. "My Lord, these two were caught in the act of thievery."

"That's a lie! We never stole nothing!" Sam snapped. He received a swift punch in the gut.

"Release them at once!" Gandalf ordered.

"Do as he says," Theoden added.

"But... My Lord-" A guard began, but broke off as Theoden glared at him.

The guard bowed. They undid Sam and Pippin's bonds.

"What are you two doing?" Gandalf demanded, stomping over to Sam and Pippin. "Why aren't you at the inn? Where're Frodo and Merry?"

"Ow!" Sam gave one of the guards a dirty look, rubbing his wrist. "We were, but we had to find some food and water..." His eyes locked onto Aragorn's flask. He began to drool.

"_Where are-"_

"Back at the inn," Pippin said quickly.

_Oh no, _Aragorn thought. Boromir, pratically alone with Frodo.

Eowyn went to Aragorn and took him by the elbow. "How fairs the Ranger of late?" She asked playfully.

Aragorn glanced at her, disgusted, and shook her off. He went to Gandalf. "I must go," he said desperately. They cannot be alone." He shook his head and ran out of the building.

Sam and Pippin watched, confused, unsure of whether they were allowed to leave or not.

"Aragorn..." Eowyn stared after him.

Legolas went to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. They stared at each other in silence.

Gimli hauled the still unconcious Grima to his feet, then flung him up and held him like an infant. He sniffed and looked around.

"I continue to marvel at the company you keep, Gandalf," Theoden said, smiling.

"It is better to keep unusual friends than unusual enemies," Gandalf replied.

"Yes..." Theoden's eyes narrowed. He looked at Grima Wormtongue. "As for him..." He held out his hand, and a servant rushed over and gave Theoden his sword. He drew it decisively.

"Wake him," Theoden told Gimli.


	20. Chapter 20

_Boromir will be gone, _Aragorn thought, his temper rising. His legs flew swiftly beneath him like a deer, steady and sure and strong as he ran through the town of Rohan.

He'll be gone, Frodo will be dead, and all hope will be lost. He cannot be allowed to leave! He cannot! Surely he will be caught on his way to Gondor. The Ring will go to Isengard, and the world will end. All because of one foolish, stupid Man. _This cannot happen!_

Aragorn clenched his teeth, his eyes watering as they strained to read every sign he rushed by. His feet began to burn, but he tried to ignore it. People stared at him and children tried to chase him, while horses flinched and chickens ran for cover. But he didn't slow down.

_What if he's still there?_ He countered himself. What if he never left? What if he just killed Frodo and Merry and is now dancing with insanity, the Ring on his finger?

_"Move!" _Aragorn yelled. He shoved a man out of the way who was leading a tan foal to a barn. The man fell and the little horse panicked and started bucking like mad.

Then he saw it. The blacksmith's shop! He looked up at the second story, seeing rows of small windows where the rooms were. He skidded to a halt and went inside the store.

The man stood with his back to Aragorn, hammering a red-hot sword on the anvil. Aragorn saw the stairs and went to them as quietly and quickly as he could.

At the top of the stairs, he listened, but could hear nothing. His heart skipped beats, struggling to catch up after his adrenaline-pumped run.

Suddenly, Aragorn went to the first room and kicked the door in violently. But it was empty of people.

"What was that?" A startled voice asked, muffled through the walls.

Aragorn went back into the hallway, holding his breath.

"Keep quiet," another voice said. The faint sound of drawing steel.

_Room six. _Aragorn went to it, his fingers twitching, and kicked the door in easily.

The wail of a frightened Hobbit, the flash of steel in the dim light. Suddenly, a blade was at Aragorn's throat.

Boromir held firm, his eyes hard and determined. Then he backed off, recognizing Aragorn.

"Aragorn," he said, relief in his voice. He lowered his sword instantly.

Aragorn stared around the room.

Merry was sitting on Frodo's bed, hugging him protectively, staring up at Aragorn like a rabbit caught in a snare. Frodo sat still, quietly regarding Aragorn with his deep, oceanic eyes. Boromir, standing there, seeming too big for the room, putting away his sword and tossing the sheath back on his bed.

A sadistic rush of heat exploded inside of Aragorn's body. He began to shake. He balled his hands into fists and slowly backed out of the room. He turned and went down the stairs, ignoring Merry's questioning calls.

He went to the blacksmith and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'd like a room." Aragorn's eyes were black. Shadows stretched across his face in dark, terrifying ribbons. He held out his hand and waited for a key.

The blacksmith stared at him for a second before taking a key out of a cabinet. He handed it to Aragorn.

"Room nine," the man said.

Aragorn went back up the stairs. He walked past room six, where Boromir was trying to fix the door as Frodo and Merry watched from the bed. He went over to room nine and unlocked it, pushing open the door. A draft of cold air drifted out to greet him, but it didn't cool him down. Aragorn went back to room six and, when Boromir looked up at him, he grabbed him around the throat, pulled him down the hall, and threw him into room nine.

Boromir hit the ground hard on his left shoulder, sliding almost a foot against the rough wood floors. He sat up slowly, watching Aragorn nervously.

Aragorn didn't look at him. He went back to the Hobbits' room and told them, "Stay there." And then he jerked the door back into place.

Aragorn stood in the hallway for a moment, closing his eyes, twisting the key between his fingers. His muscles were so tense, he could hardly make himself walk again. He realized he was holding his breath, and when he allowed himself to breathe again, he sighed out some of his anger.

He walked to room nine, went in, and shut the door behind him, locking it deliberately. He let the key drop to the floor, turning to face Boromir at last.

"What did you do?" Aragorn demanded, walking up to Boromir.

"Nothing," Boromir answered honestly.

"Did you hurt Frodo?" Aragorn snarled.

"Was he bleeding?" Boromir asked sarcastically, unafraid despite Aragorn's anger.

"Did you-"

"I did nothing."

Aragorn squinted his eyes. He believed him. But, _oh God, _he didn't want to. _Why won't you lie to me? Why...?_

"Why didn't you take the Ring?" Aragorn asked.

"It would only serve to hurt our cause," Boromir replied evenly.

_I hate you so much._ "Why didn't you take it back to Gondor?" Aragorn squatted down to Boromir and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

Boromir blinked slowly. "Would you have wanted me to?" He asked quietly.

Aragorn shoved him. Boromir fell back and thunked his head into the floor. He groaned slightly as his skull filled with dizzy fluid and began to pulse. Painfully, he sat back up. Aragorn stood up suddenly and turned away.

"I cannot stand you, Boromir," he said darkly.

Boromir got to his feet. He stood in silence, watching Aragorn.

Aragorn picked at a silver hair in his beard, growing angry as the hair kept slipping through his fingernails. "I cannot..." He gritted his teeth and finally pulled out the little hair, letting it fall to the floor. He hesitated and faced Boromir. "I cannot bear this," he said weakly.

Boromir came closer. He dared to lift his hand and rest it on Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn didn't resist.

"You need not bear it alone," Borormir said, his voice trembling. Aragorn looked into his eyes and saw they were bright with tears.

"Boromir..." Aragorn stared at him. A coldness was washing through his stomach and making his heart ache. He fiercely wanted a hug right then. He blushed at his desire, feeling childish.

A tear rolled down Boromir's cheek, freezing in his beard. Aragorn touched the bit of wetness with his finger. It was warm. It made him feel warm inside.

Boromir slipped his hand off Aragorn's shoulder and stepped closer to him, pressing their chests together. He wrapped his arms around his back, squeezing him firmly, shaking slightly.

Aragorn let him, standing awkwardly still. It was hard for him to breathe. He sniffed and discovered his nose was stuffy with mucus. He blinked as his eyes began to itch, and felt hot tears run down his face. A sob escaped his lips and startled him.

Boromir buried his face in the crook of Aragorn's neck. Slowly, Aragorn reached around and held Boromir to him. He rested his chin against Boromir's dirty head, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn whispered without realizing it.

"As am I," Boromir whimpered, his hot breath tickling Aragorn's neck.

They remained in their embrace for a few quiet, timeless moments.

...

Gandalf stood watching with bitterness as Theoden, King of Rohan, exacted his revenge. Sam and Pippin were watching as well, but with weak stomachs and trembling nerves.

Grima Wormtongue cowered on the floor, crawling away from the King's sword as he raised it high.

"Your leechcraft would have me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Theoden snarled hatefully, stomping after the gutless puke.

"I only ever lived to serve you, my Lord!" Grima insisted, raising his shaking hands in surrender.

"Your lies have outnumbered their days in my halls," Theoden retorted.

"Have mercy on me, my Lord!" Grima begged. "It was not I who desired to harm you, but the White One who dwells in Isengard!"

"You dare to turn on your master?" Gandalf asked disgustedly. "If you were to leave this place, would he not suffer you a fate worse than death?"

"I swear," Grima clasped a hand to his heart, snatching Gandalf a vile look before staring pitifully up at the King. "I will do anything you say. Please, my Lord, have pity on me; a poor, lonely man swept up by the wicked ways of the Wizards."

Theoden looked around.

His guards were blank-faced. Legolas kept his expression flat, but Gimli was grinning. He wanted to see some real blood-shed.

"What say you, Gandalf?" Theoden asked wearily. "Should I spare this creature another chance to ruin me?"

"It would be unwise," Gandalf answered. "To let him live."

"Aye. That's what I thought." Theoden raised his sword once more.

Eowyn rushed into the room. "It was he, also, my Lord, that poisoned your son to death!" She cried through angry tears.

Theoden paused. "My son..." Then he became angry. He glared down at Grima with loathing. His knuckles turned white beneath his gloves, tightly gripping his sword-hilt.

_"No!"_ Grima Wormtongue held out his hands, raising a foot in the air in a feeble attempt to ward him off. "Please," he cried. "Please, my Lord, I beg you!"

"Grima the Wormtongue," Theoden said loudly. "Your services are no longer required."

"My Lord, _please!"_

But Theoden's sword sliced off his head, and Grima said no more.

Sam and Pippin covered their eyes.

...

Later, Gandalf sat with Theoden and discussed Frodo and the whole Ring business and what to do next.

Legolas and Gimli decided to take Sam and Pippin into town and buy supplies and food, then go to the inn. So that's what they did.

...

Merry and Frodo sat in bed together, anxiously awaiting for something to happen.

They ran out of things to talk about, not wanting to talk about the obvious. They stared at the bits of wood and nails that littered the floor in odd clumps. They watched the shadows lengthen from out the thinly-screened window as the afternoon slipped away into evening.

After awhile, Merry went to the table and lit the lantern. He brought it back to the bed and sat it between them. Frodo and Merry huddled over the warm lantern in an attempt to chase away the cold fear that lurked in the shadows of the unknown.

...

Boromir led Aragorn to the bed.

Aragorn laid down and let Boromir remove his armor. Boromir's blistered fingers untied the straps of his pants and carefully pulled them down, one leg at a time.

Their eyes joined together and melted as one with a burst of wet gray and wet brown.

_I love you... _Boromir swallowed and blinked back his tears, leaving Aragorn's underwear alone and removing Aragorn's shirt instead.

Aragorn sat up suddenly, tossing his shirt off the rest of the way. He wrapped his hands around Boromir's waist and pulled him towards him.

"Take it off," Aragorn begged.

Boromir obeyed. He stripped away his armor and shirt and took a step back to take off his pants.

Naked apart from their underwear, Boromir and Aragorn gazed at each other.

Aragorn held out his hand. Boromir took it and kissed it lightly, and suddenly Aragorn pulled him on top of him.

Both aroused, they panted on each other by simply laying together. Boromir moved so all his weight would not be on Aragorn. Their chests pressed together, hot, hairy, and heaving. The beats of their hearts rang out as one, pulsing in their veins as noticeably as thunder.

Tears dripped from Boromir's nose and dotted along Aragorn's chest.

Aragorn leaned up and kissed him on the chin. Boromir closed his eyes as Aragorn travelled down to his neck, then his shoulder-blades.

Passion tore through Boromir, and he could no longer let himself just lay there and be kissed. He pressed his hand into Aragorn's chest, forcing him onto his back. Boromir breathed thinly through his parted lips, his hand still pinning Aragorn down, and Aragorn was momentarily afraid. Until Boromir brought his face down and kissed Aragorn tenderly on the lips.

Why should I judge myself so harshly? Boromir wondered. If this is what it takes for me to be happy, and also for him to be happy, then why should I not indulge in it? What is it that makes this wrong? Is there anything- Boromir's thoughts broke off as he gasped.

Aragorn thrust his hips upwards again, pressing their crotches together viciously. Boromir swallowed dryly, his eyes wide.

Aragorn reached down and grabbed onto Boromir's groin. Boromir turned his face away, wincing and closing his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Boromir looked at him quickly. "Yes," he said instantly. Then added gently, "Yes, yes." His eyes softened, and a small smile curled on his lips.

Aragorn smiled back. With one swift motion, he pulled down Boromir's underwear.

...

"They're staying at an inn?"

Gandalf hesitated. "Yes," he said.

"Why, Gandalf!" Theoden feined hurt feelings. "You know you are free to bring them here! Let them spend the night in my chambers, not some shoddy inn above a smithy shop!"

"We did not intent to spend the night," Gandalf said slowly.

"But is it wise to travel after dark in these hill? I think not." Theoden scoffed.

Gandalf looked up at the darkening skies. "Where has the day gone in such a hurry?" He mused.

"To rest, my friend, until morning. As you should as well."

Gandalf looked at him. "You're right," he said seriously.

"Naturally," Theoden nodded good-naturedly. "Now, find your friends and bring them_ here!_ Tonight, we will feast, and if on the morrow you must depart from me, then I will have to get over it."

Gandalf smiled. "Thank you." He patted him on the shoulder.

"No, thank you, Gandalf. There's no telling how much longer I would have lasted beneath that scum's trickery."

Gandalf agreed, but didn't say as much. He knew that Saruman was getting stronger, and his defeat of him that day had been purely circumstantial luck.

...

Legolas and Gimli were quite the odd couple to be seen shepherding around two young Hobbits through the town. Yet there they were.

"Oh, can we get a goose?" Pippin asked eagerly, hovering over a butcher's booth where he was selling dead, plucked fowl.

"I'm worried about Frodo," Sam said off and on. "I told him I'd be back hours ago..."

Legolas bought new blankets and more water flasks and Gimli bought dried meat and a thick cloth for cleaning weapons. Sam and Pippin picked out fruits and vegetables that would last a good while before going bad, and Legolas bought them.

Then the people began to fade from the streets, vanishing into their homes as the sky gradually turned into night.

Sam lead the four of them back to the blacksmith shop, and they walked inside right as Gandalf walked out of Theoden's castle.


	21. Chapter 21

Sam lead the way into the blacksmith shop, followed by Legolas, then Pippin and Gimli.

The smithy raised his eyebrows but knew better than to judge them, continuing with his work of beating the dents out of a shield.

Sam waved. "Our room's up here," he said, heading towards the stairs.

Legolas placed one foot on the steps and froze, his eyes widening.

"Wait," he said quietly.

Sam turned around, already halfway up.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Pippin went around to stare into Legolas's blank eyes. Gimli raised his nose in the air, sniffing at the stairs curiously. Sam slowly stepped down.

"What?" He asked again.

"Something's not right," Legolas said quickly.

"Stay here." He went past Sam and up the stairs, pausing on the landing as he saw splinters of wood littered along the hallway.

He listened carefully, his heart beat slowing. A shot of chilling recognition flushed through his veins as he could hear two Men down the hallway. He struggled to resist the powerful scenes that his mind portrayed, playing a movie in his head of what his ears were hearing. He shook his head and went down the hall, silent as a ghost with no voice.

He placed a hand on the doorframe of room six, knowing the Hobbits were concealed behind the damaged wood door. His eyes went down to room nine, where he continued to hear unearthly sounds. His stomach clenched and he steeled himself, walking to the door.

...

Aragorn ran his fingers through Boromir's chest hair, traveling up to his beard and rushing back down, following the smattering of belly-button hair down to the pubics.

Boromir's thighs clenched but he held still as he could as Aragorn's hand found once more Boromir's stiff manhood. His teeth gnawed into his bottom lip, drawing blood. He twisted his fingers into the bedsheets and trembled.

Aragorn let him go and pressed himself between Boromir's legs, rubbing their hot, pulsing members together tantalizingly.

They groaned in unison.

Reaching their arms to each other, Aragorn pulled Boromir into sitting position and Boromir wrapped his arms around Aragorn's back. Aragorn thrust his hips in and out slowly, rocking side-to-side between Boromir's tense knees. Their penises forced into each other and rubbed and burned and hightened their pleasures.

Tears streamed silently down Boromir's face, even as he rested his cheek against Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn, too, appeared miserable, but his tears had dried up and left salty lines on his skin, leaving his face hard and void.

They rolled their hips together and Boromir's arms tightened around Aragorn as he grew close to the end of his pleasure. Aragorn began thrusting violently into Boromir, his penis pounding into Boromir's penis and scrotum, finding no place to enter, but also not desiring one. Sweat ran down his bare back and tickled on Boromir's skin as Aragorn also sensed the end.

Then, Boromir lifted his head and began kissing Aragorn's neck softly, sucking at his skin like an infant. Aragorn stopped moving his hips as a shudder swept over him, delighted with Boromir's gentleness.

"You're sending me into madness," Aragorn moaned breathlessly, his erection fading off since he had halted his drive. Before he could resume his thrusts, however, Boromir's hand fell down and took hold of Aragorn's penis.

"Let me help you," Boromir offered in a low, almost shy voice.

Aragorn leaned back to look at him, puzzled, yet pleased.

Boromir bent over and began working Aragorn's member with his hands, starting off loose and slow, then tightening, and moving faster.

_"Ooh..."_ Aragorn threw back his head and his eyes rolled. His body was a vibrating ball of fire, burning and smoking and wanting more wood. Boromir's calloused hands were surprisingly smoothe on him, and Aragorn was loving it.

...

Legolas held his breath, his hand on the door-knob. Slowly, he turned it. But it was locked.

...

Aragorn and Boromir didn't hear the knob creak; too absorbed were they in their extacies. They didn't even hear Legolas knock.

But they would hear it for sure when Gimli punched the door in.

...

Gandalf was in high spirits. He knew that the Fellowship would be more than happy to pack up and go to Theoden's castle for a feast and a good night's rest. He strolled through the town on his way to the blacksmith shop, showing off his white cloak and staff to anyone who gave him a funny look. But, unfortunately for him, evening was falling upon him fast, and most everyone was in their homes.

He came to the blacksmith's and entered.

The Wizard greeted the smithy warmly, introducing himself. The blacksmith smiled and shook his hand, telling him he'd been waiting all day to meet him. "I've just heard so much about you lately!" The man joked.

"Yes, well," Gandalf squinted his smiling eyes. "Let's hope it was all good things."

The blacksmith laughed too loud.

Pippin came down the stairs.

"Gandalf?" He called uncertainly.

"Pippin?" Gandalf went to him.

"Gandalf, there's... There's something you ought to know..." Pippin looked down, shuffling his feet. His eyes darted from the floor to the blacksmith and back to the floor, embaressed.

"What is it, lad?" Gandalf touched his shoulder kindly.

"Aragorn... and Boromir." Pippin paled and blushed at the same time.

Sam stepped down the stairs towards Pippin. "Who are you talking to?" He asked harshly, then flinched upon seeing Gandalf.

"Gandalf!" Sam grinned.

"Hold on, Sam," Gandalf raised a hand. "Pippin's trying to tell me something."

Pippin blushed even more. "I...I think they-"

Suddenly a loud thud sounded from up the stairs.

Gandalf looked at the ceiling suspiciously.

"Hey!" The blacksmith called. "What's going on up there?"

Pippin hung his head and smacked his face into his hands.

Gandalf glanced at him, then rushed up the stairs with Sam on his heels.

...

Light forced its way into room nine, flooding in orangely from the hallway.

Bits of wood flew into Aragorn and Boromir's bare bodies, pricking them and sticking in their hair. Aragorn would have drawn his sword, if he had been in proper uniform. He jerked away from Boromir and faced the door, unashamedly naked and furiously angry. Boromir sat with his legs hanging off the bed, quickly tucking his hands over his member, his seed running out between his fingers.

Gimli lowered his foot slowly. Way too slowly.

Legolas stood behind Gimli, easily able to see above and beyond his stubby, ugly head. His mouth fell open, but he had to shut it because nausea rose up in his throat and he thought he might be sick. He turned away and moved out of sight of the door, slapping his hand against the closest wall, panting in the hallway.

Gandalf came up the stairs and went straight to Legolas.

"Legolas, what's..." Gandalf broke off as Legolas shook his head desperately, squeezing shut his eyes.

Gandalf went to Gimli.

...

Sam tried to go after him, but Pippin grabbed him by the shirt.

"Wait, Sam," Pippin begged.

"What?" Sam frowned.

"Please," Pippin whimpered. "Don't go over there."

Sam stared at him. "What is wrong with you?" He smacked Pippin away.

"Sam?" A voice called.

Sam knew that voice instantly. He suddenly saw room six's broken door and ran to it.

"Mr. Frodo?" He cried, shoving the door out of his way.

Frodo and Merry were sitting on the edge of the bed, both of them holding their swords. A lantern sat on the bed behind them.

Frodo let his sword drop to the floor and he stood up as Sam reached him and they embraced.

"What's going on, Sam?" Frodo asked helplessly, his voice wrought with sorrow and misunderstanding.

"I don't know yet, Frodo, but don't you worry," Sam rushed out. "It's all going to be alright, I promise."

Pippin came into the room. Merry watched him go sit on the chair by the table. They didn't speak, nor did they want to.

...

Aragorn pulled his underwear and pants on, which woke Boromir from his stupor, and he quickly stood up and did the same.

"Turn _away, _Gimli!" Aragorn snapped.

Before Gimli could even think about moving, Gandalf appeared in the doorway.

He took in the sight in less than an instant, though the speed of his comprehension did not make the scene any easier to accept.

Gandalf frowned. He pushed Gimli away, towards Legolas in the hallway, and stepped into the room. He stammed the butt of his staff on the ground, and the room lit up in a brilliant white light.

Boromir shielded his eyes with his hand, and Aragorn held up his shirt to block it.

"Look at you two!" Gandalf bellowed.

Boromir felt guilty for allowing himself to be caught, but by no means was he ashamed. He went over to Gandalf and seized his staff, not trying to take it, just gripping onto it forcefully. He glared through the light into Gandalf's eyes.

"I look and I know what I see, Gandalf," he said darkly. "I see a Wizard too curious for his own good."

Gandalf smacked his hand away. "Keep your soiled fingers away from me!" He growled.

"Boromir," Aragorn said sharply.

Boromir turned to him, expecting a reprimand, but Aragorn merely tossed him his shirt. Boromir put it on swiftly.

Gandalf flicked his eyes from Aragorn to Boromir and back again. Then, frustrated, he sighed heavily and turned away.

"Come to me when you are decent, Aragorn." Gandalf comanded.

"I shall," Aragorn answered curtly.

Gandalf left the room. The hallway cleared, with Gandalf leading Gimli and Legolas into room six, and it became oddly quiet.

Boromir slowed down considerably, but still continued to get dressed.

Aragorn tilted his head to look at him, but Boromir kept his eyes down.


	22. Chapter 22

Frodo listened with forced silence, shaking slightly and feeling cold, as Gandalf explained that Aragorn and Boromir were weary and exhausted and they had sunk into a deep depression, and once they had discovered they shared the same pain, they found their own ways to alleviate it.

"I just don't understand it," Gimli said, shaking his head. "Is it not a woman that Men lust after?"

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, Aragorn has a woman who he loves. I suppose this seperation from her has driven him a bit mad."

Frodo looked down. He felt like a sick child, bedridden by his own doing. But he didn't want to get up, and he didn't want to sit there. He fingered the Ring, sticking his hand down the front of his shirt. He wondered if the Ring was Boromir's woman, and if not being able to have her forced him to unholiness.

Sam, who sat on the edge of the bed beside Frodo, suddenly stood up. "This is crazy," he barked out. "We can't have them... Doing_ that_... It's not right."

Enervated, Legolas hunched over and placed his face in his hands from where he sat at the table.

"It's unthinkable," Merry put in._ Two Men going at it with the same body parts... _He grimaced.

Pippin said nothing.

"I'm going to talk with them and see what we can do," Gandalf told them, planting his staff on the floor decisively.

"What is there to do?" Aragorn asked.

Gandalf turned around. Aragorn stood in the doorway, his eyes sharp and dark.

"Let us talk about it," Gandalf said, walking towards Aragorn.

Aragorn shrugged and backed up into the hallway, letting Gandalf out. They went to room nine, and saw Boromir sitting on the bed. He looked up as Gandalf and Aragorn came in.

"Join the others," Gandalf said, pointing over his shoulder.

Boromir tried to mask the terrified expression in his eyes, standing quickly and walking past them. He went down the hall and closed his eyes for a moment before walking into room six.

...

Gandalf sat at the table and Aragorn shut the door and joined him.

"Why, Aragorn," Gandalf began. "Do you bed this Man?"

Aragorn looked away. "I have my reasons."

"Explain them to me."

Aragorn scowled.

Gandalf stared cooly at him.

Sighing, Aragorn dropped his gaze to the table and began picking at long-forgotten candlewax stuck to the surface. "I..." He licked his lips. "I don't know."

"Who was the first to initiate this behavior?"

Aragorn hesitated, sensing a trap. "Boromir," he lied, keeping his tone the same as before.

Gandalf believed him. "And were you willing, or did he force you?"

Aragorn felt flushed beneath his clothes. _Him, forcing me,_ he thought, his mouth watering. What a treat that would have been. Aragorn could picture it in his mind, and it turned him on. "He forced me," he said in a low voice. He crossed his legs as heat burned into his crotch.

"And... after that, I suppose it was consensual?" Gandalf offered.

"Not for awhile, but gradually..." Aragorn winced as his fingernail bent back against the table top.

"Look at me."

Aragorn raised his eyes.

"Why do you let him corrupt you?" Gandalf asked.

"I admit I came to enjoy it," Aragorn swallowed a lump in his throat. "I feel so powerless..." Powerless against _you. _Why won't you just go back to Moria and fall in that hole again? _You ruin everything_. "He was always after the Ring and... I thought if I allowed him to do what he did, then his interests would be directed elsewhere."

"I see..."

"That's all," Aragorn said suddenly, looking up at Gandalf. "Will you let me go, now? We should all get some sleep before we have to leave in the morning."

"Oh," Gandalf remembered. "Theoden has offered us a night in his castle chambers, along with a meal."

"For this night?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes."

"Then we should not keep the King waiting." Aragorn stood up.

Gandalf watched him, then stood as well. They faced each other.

"Boromir will not be joining us."

Aragorn blinked, stunned. "Why not?"

"He is not good for the Fellowship. Frodo hasn't been able to sleep. Neither has Sam, so worried he is that Boromir will turn on them," Gandalf began, speaking slowly and clearly. "And now you, a Man I believed could over-come all temptations, has sunken to the darkness of pleasuring another Man!"

Aragorn said nothing, keeping his jaw clenched.

"And I know that Legolas will not be able to take back what he saw, especially not if Boromir is still with us."

"So what are you suggesting?" Aragorn asked thinly, though he knew the answer.

"We must send him back to Gondor," Gandalf said quickly.

"That is absurd," Aragorn growled. "His hold on all of us is not that strong."

"Who's to say it isn't?" Gandalf demanded. "You have not looked in the mirror lately. You have changed more than you realize. It frightens and concerns me. Have you even considered how Arwen would feel about all this?"

"This isn't about her," Aragorn snapped.

"But isn't it?" Gandalf pressed, coming closer. They stared into eachother's eyes.

"No." Aragorn glared.

"As I said," Gandalf turned away. "You have changed more than you know."

Aragorn balled his hands into fists to keep himself from drawing his sword and decapitating the Wizard. He couldn't speak.

Gandalf went on. "Removing the poison from a wound will not cure you instantly: It takes time for the body to heal... And to forget the scars."

Aragorn slumped his shoulders. His hands relaxed at his sides. He sighed heavily.

Gandalf looked at him.

"Fine," Aragorn said wearily.

Gandalf smiled kindly and patted Aragorn on the shoulder. Aragorn looked away.

...

Room six was silent as a graveyard.

Four pairs of Hobbit eyes and two Dwarf eyes watched Boromir enter the room. Legolas was standing in front of the small window, holding back the thin curtain and staring up at the dark, star-lit sky, his back to the others deliberately.

Boromir glanced at everyone shyly.

The Hobbits sat on the two beds while the Dwarf sat on the bed across it. Legolas was standing by the table and chair. The room was too small for all these people, and Boromir was the odd-man out.

He took a shaky breath and sat in the floor by the door, staring down at the wood fragments from when Aragorn had kicked in the door.

No one spoke.

...

Aragorn entered the room first, followed by Gandalf.

Boromir looked up and tried to read Aragorn's expression, but Aragorn wouldn't look at him. He stood up anxiously.

Aragorn went and sat beside Gimli, keeping his eyes down.

Gandalf cleared his throat.

Legolas turned around and all eyes flew to Gandalf.

"The acts we stumbled upon this evening, no matter how private they tried to keep it, have been going on for some time," he began.

Legolas swallowed a bitter taste, his stomach rolling.

"These acts have hurt every one of us, whether we realize it or not."

Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but Gandalf thrust his palm out at him in a quick, silencing gesture.

"Now, we all know why we joined together: To destroy the One Ring. But progress has been slowing." Gandalf took a breath. "And it has been made known to me that Boromir is the cause of our delays."

Suddenly, it hit him. Boromir covered his eyes with one hand. _They're getting rid of me, _he thought, a choking feeling rising into his throat. He breathed slowly through his mouth, trying to control himself.

Frodo felt a rush of relief. Gandalf is banishing him, he thought happily.

"It's not all _his_ fault!" Pippin burst out suddenly.

Aragorn flicked his eyes at Pippin dangerously, but Pippin ignored him, staring pleadingly at Gandalf.

"It's been Aragorn this whole time,_ making _Boromir kiss him and stuff. It's not Boromir's fault for following orders!"

"Pippin!" Merry punched him, embaressed.

"Peregrin Took, do you have any real evidence for your tale?" Gandalf asked, his tone tense and a bit angry.

"Well, just that I've seen it with my own eyes!" Pippin said uncertainly.

"Will you _shut up?" _Merry pushed Pippin roughly. Pippin smacked him and hopped off the bed, getting out of arms' length.

"The eyes play tricks on the mind," Gandalf told him. "Aragorn has already told me what has been going on. Thank you, Pippin."

"But-"

"_Enough, _Pippin!" Merry snapped.

"Boromir," Gandalf turned to him.

Boromir lowered his hands, raising his eyes to meet Gandalf's.

"Yes?" He asked softly.

"In the best interest of the Fellowship and the outcome of this quest, I believe it would be right for you to leave us now," Gandalf concluded.

Boromir said nothing. He saw his sword on the bed behind Aragorn and Gimli. He went to it and picked it up.

The room suddenly ripped and swelled with tension. Gimli stood up quickly and grabbed his axe. Gandalf pointed his staff at Boromir darkly.

Boromir glanced around, startled, yet not surprised. He sighed and buckled the sword around his waist.

Aragorn watched him, still sitting on the bed, his neck turned around.

Boromir met Aragorn's eyes.

Aragorn waited, sensing that Boromir wanted to say something. And Boromir waited, sensing that Aragorn wanted to say something.

When nothing was said in that brief moment, Boromir turned and went to Gandalf. He bowed his head to him, then turned and faced the others.

"Thank you," he said humbly. "For allowing me to spend as long as I have with all of you."

Pippin ran over and hugged him.

Suddenly his eyes filled with tears which he had been fighting to control. He knelt down and hugged Pippin back.

"Stay safe, young one," Boromir said softly.

He stood up and Pippin took a step back. No one else moved.

"I'm sorry for all the grief I have caused," he said sadly. "It... It was not my intent." Boromir looked at Frodo, who stared back with hatred. Boromir looked at Aragorn, but couldn't read his face.

When no one spoke, Boromir turned sharply and went out the door, shutting it as best as it could shut behind him.

His legs were shaking and he thought he might fall down the stairs, but he didn't. _My father will be angry with me,_ he thought. _For returning home with nothing. _Boromir went out of the blacksmith shop and into the night. He blinked back more tears and tried not to think about anything but the best route to Gondor.


	23. Chapter 23

Aragorn aged a thousand years in less than two hours. Or so he felt.

The Fellowship sat with the King of Rohan, who was delighted to meet Frodo, the bearer of the fate of the world. They ate and chatted merrily about this and that, small things of no consequence, such as when golden buds turn into flowers on the trees, and the best weather to go fishing in.

The impending war remained unspokenly off-limits in conversation.

Aragorn smiled when he was looked at, nodded when it seemed appropriate, but he his heart was not in it. A weariness had filled his bones and made him tired, and his eyes began to droop. He wondered vaguely if Boromir had gone to another inn, or if he had pressed on to Gondor in the middle of the bitterly cold night.

A great hand slapped upon his back, startling him into awareness. He looked and saw Gimli laughing in his face.

"Isn't that right, Aragorn?" Gimli chortled through a mouthful of mushy meat.

Aragorn grimaced, but Gimli took it as a smile and laughed some more. He was still chuckling through his beard as he gulped down a goblet of wine.

Aragorn let his mind drift again, but before he could completely, he heard Theoden's voice.

"I heard tell that there were nine of you," he said to Gandalf. "Is that not so? Are there only eight?"

Gandalf unconciously glanced down the table and met Aragorn's eye. He quickly looked back at Theoden, answering, "There were." He sighed and continued gravely. "But unfortunately our other companion fell into madness."

"Madness?" Theoden stared. "Over such a little thing?"

Frodo tensed and kept his eyes on the table, feeling Theoden look at him to examine the Ring bearer.

"I can believe it," Theoden nodded, turning back to Gandalf. "But I won't understand it. Some people are weaker than others, I suppose."

Aragorn let out his breath slowly through his nostrils. He felt a bit dizzy. He picked at a slice of bread and ground it into crumbs between his fingers, letting the crumbs fall into his plate soundlessly.

...

The meal went by in a haze for Aragorn. He stumbled as he walked to the bed chambers, following Theoden and the rest of the Fellowship. He felt light and floaty, but his steps were hard and unsteady, as though he were drunk. Pretty much everyone thought he was. Though Aragorn hadn't eaten a thing, no one had been paying any attention to him, so they didn't know.

"Here we are!" Theoden lead them into a grand hall, full of cots and beds pressed along the walls with pillows and blankets piled on shelves.

"Take your pick, there's plenty of room," Theoden said loudly. "Mind you don't wet the bed."

Gimli staggered by to the nearest bed and fell face-first down into it.

Theoden watched Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam all rush over to the beds and look for the best ones in a row. He smiled kindly and nodded to Gandalf. "I'll leave you to it," he said, walking away.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Legolas bowed.

Theoden half-turned and nodded shortly, forcing a smile. "Aye," he said. "Must keep you all safe."

Legolas took that bluntness as an invite to excuse himself, so he walked off to find a nice bed.

Gandalf went to Theoden.

"About what you said before," Gandalf began.

Theoden waved him off. "We'll speak in the morning."

"Of course."

"Rest now, Gandalf." Theoden patted him.

Gandalf smiled, and Theoden left.

Aragorn watched as everyone found beds and pulled sheets and blankets and pillows from the shelves, building their own personal nests. Though his body and mind were exhausted, he was not sleepy.

Tossing a pillow on his bed, Gandalf glanced around and noticed Aragorn was still standing by the doors of the chamber hall. Gandalf walked to him.

"You need not worry here, Aragorn," Gandalf reassured him. "Rohan's fortress is strong, and her guards are always alert."

"It is not that," Aragorn looked away. He began fumbling in his pockets. He pulled out his pipe. "I'm going to smoke outside. I do not wish to fill this room with ashes."

Gandalf nodded, sensing there was something Aragorn wasn't telling him, but not wanting to press him about it.

Aragorn made his way down the halls lit by the odd torch here and there, and found the dining hall. Servants were cleaning up the mess. Two of them rushed over to Aragorn and asked him if he needed anything, to which Aragorn rudely stuck out his pipe. One of the servants grabbed a candle and lit his pipe, and Aragorn walked away without a word.

Outside, the air was fresh and crisp. Aragorn wondered how he hadn't noticed how stuffy it was in the castle. The coldness instantly spiked his skin with goosebumps, and he grimly was glad he could still feel. He looked up at the sky, searching for stars, but even the moon was covered up. A thick expanse of dark clouds had stretched over the sky, promising rain for the next day.

He stared off at the town, lit up by the welcoming orange glow of torches and cooking fires. He inhaled his pipe, the smoke drying on his tongue and filling his lungs with the sweet taste of weed. He let it out slowly through his nose, the smoke tickling on its way out and drifting lazily away from his face on a light, light breeze. He sat down on the top stair leading up to the main doors, dragging from his pipe every thirty seconds or so. The smoke calmed him. The familiarity of its taste and smell was comforting, reminding him of his days as a Ranger, doing what he pleased to whomever he pleased, with no one telling him otherwise.

"You made me feel free again," he said softly, not realizing he had voiced his thoughts. He became embarressed, shaking his head and smiling slightly. "I will miss you," he said even softer, hanging his head down. His pipe turned sideways between his lips and the weed fell out, hitting the ground between his boots and shooting up tiny red and orange sparks before vanishing into dust.

...

Boromir bought a horse by trading in his remaining supplies and coins he had left, then he rode out of Rohan at a steady gallop, pounding the dark earth into dust behind him as the horse carried him swiftly away.

The moon was a slight glimmer behind the clouds, and it did its best to light the way for him. But a chilly wind blew in with the night, enuciated by the force of which he rode, and the clouds began to thicken and swell together, erasing the moon's gentle light.

Despite the engulfing darkness, Boromir urged his horse on through the plains, with grass whipping against his legs. Like a fish in the ocean, out in the wilderness was where Boromir felt most at home, with a horse between his thighs and his keen insticts to guide him through the night.

Two hours of hard riding passed, and the horse began to tire. Boromir kicked it to keep at a trot, but after awhile the horse slowed to a quick walk. Both horse and rider were panting by the time they stopped to rest at an abandoned shack.

They approach the shack cautiously. At first it appeared old and collapsed, but upon closer inspection, Boromir realized it had been set on fire. He glanced down quickly as the horse's hooves began to crunch on the ground. The smell of ashes rose to his nostrils, and Boromir jerked the horse to back away.

Suddenly the clouds spread apart just enough to let the moon filter down. Boromir blinked as his eyes adjusted, and he beheld a gritty sight.

Remains of houses were hunched sadly on their foundations, reduced to cinder and ash and dust. By the light of the moon, white stood out much more than black: Skeletal beings raised frozen hands out of the ashes, broken rib-cages lay scattered along the charred ground, and mutilated, melted faces stared helplessly with dark, eye-less sockets at nothing at all.

The leftovers from an Orc raid.

A slaughtered town.

The horse whinnied softly, and Boromir pulled it away. They walked out of the town slowly, the horse's hooves constantly clicking and snapping under gravel-like bones and charcoal, until they regained their breath, and the horse could gallop again.

Behind them, the clouds covered the moon with their soft, dark hands, so the moon would not have to see the devastation any longer.

...

Early in the morning, as dawn was bruising the sky with violet and orange smudges, Aragorn went back outside to smoke his pipe.

He had not slept that night. Or at least, he did not remember sleeping. He just remembered laying there, staring up at the ceiling, watching the odd shadows from the scattered torch-light, waiting for infinity, for forever, for nothing, and for everything. But nothing happened. The morning bell shook him into awareness, and that was when he rose and went outside.

He stared off towards the East, squinting at the sun, his nerves tense and his mind angry. He wanted to stare at the sun and make himself go blind, just to spite the rumors. He wanted to cut his hand off just so he could feel something real, instead of just emotions. He wanted to walk out of Rohan and become the old Ranger of the North that he had been long ago, with no worries, no cares, and no one to long for, just to be free again.

Aragorn inhaled his pipe deeply, and exhaled, closing his eyes as a breeze twisted the smoke and flicked it back into his face.

Then something grabbed his arm, and Aragorn's eyes snapped open and he smacked whatever it was away. His wide eyes narrowed when he saw Eowyn standing there, a shocked expression on her face, rubbing her wrist heatedly.

"Well, excuse me," she scoffed, tossing her hair.

Aragorn looked away.

Eowyn hesitated, then came closer. "Are you alright?" She asked seriously.

"Yes," Aragorn answered.

"What is it that captures your thoughts so?" Eowyn pressed, twirled around to stand in front of Aragorn. "Who ever it is, she must be beautiful."

Aragorn frowned. "You know with whom my heart lies sworn," he said tightly. "Do not pester me."

"Ah, but is Arwen the Elf as willing and able in battle as I?" Eowyn teased.

Aragorn sighed heavily. He tipped his pipe over and tapped it, the weed trickling out. Eowyn stepped back quickly, the glowing bits floating too close for her comfort.

Aragorn felt pleased but dared not to show it. He stuck his pipe in his vest and started to walk back inside, but then Eowyn was right in front of him.

She pressed her hands into his chest, then wrapped them around his back. She held him tight, leaning her face down and pushing her cheek into his heart.

"Hold me, Aragorn," Eowyn begged softly. "I have lost my brother by the hand of a traitor. I had the power to stop him, though I was too afraid to. It is my fault he lies dead in a tomb."

Aragorn slowly hugged her back. "It is not your fault," he told her what she wanted to hear. "It is the fault of the Ring that poisons people to harm one another."

"Are you really going all the way to Mordor to destroy it?" She asked childishly.

"It must be done," Aragorn replied steadily. He thought of Boromir, how much he had wanted to merely _try _and see if he could wield the Ring in favor of Gondor's protection. Now he would never get the chance. _Will I ever see him again?_

"Then I shall join you."

"What?" Aragorn pushed her away to stare into her face.

"I shall join you," Eowyn said again.

"No Woman can fight in battle," Aragorn said. "Besides, you are needed here, with your uncle. Greater need for you is in Rohan."

"War is headed here," Eowyn said quickly. "And I will fight if I must, but I can help _you_ _more_, Aragorn." Her tone hinted at seduction, and she reached up and touched Aragorn's cheek.

It made Aragorn uncomfortable. He stepped back.

She matched his step. She put her other hand around his neck and kept him from moving. She stood on her tippy-toes and brought her lips close to his.

"I shall join you," she said in a whisper. "If not on your quest, than at least..." Her hand snatched onto his and she quickly thrust Aragorn's hand against her breast. Before he could protest, Eowyn shoved their bodies together and kissed him furiously on the lips.

...

A herald of trumpets sounded, but Denethor, the Steward of Gondor was not excited. He sat on his great throne in his grand and empty throne room, sucking away on a goblet of wine.

The throne room doors burst open, and a messenger rushed in. Denethor squinted angrily in the morning light, looking into his cup and ignoring the man. The messenger ran over and bowed low before Denethor, then stood up and announced; "My Lord, your son has returned!"

"Do not let him in," Denethor ordered, waving his hand dismissively. "I do not wish to see him. Tell him to wash his horse or something."

"But, My Lord, it is not Faramir that returns, but Boromir."

"Boromir?" The word felt foreign on Denethor's lips. He grinned as remebrance struck him and he lept to his feet, tossing his goblet at the messenger.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He cried, throwing out his arms.

Denethor ran out of the throne room with the messenger tottering after him, the wine sloshing out onto his clothes and spreading over his chest like blood.

...

The sun was leaving the horizon in golden blaze of glory, spitting fire at the gray clouds that threatened to cover it. The air was brisk, but the rising sun was warm on his back.

As Boromir rode his horse into the White City, townsfolk and soldiers came out of their houses and abandoned their posts, cheering his name and clapping their hands triumphantly.

Boromir couldn't bear to look at them. He steered his horse silently around the hordes that gathered in the streets.

From somewhere nearby, the horn of Gondor rang out, and Boromir instinctively looked for the source. Instead of finding it, however, Boromir tensed up as the crowds parted and his father appeared rushing towards him.

"My son!" Denethor cried loudly, stretching out his arms as though he had only two feet of distance between them, instead of ten yards.

"Father." Boromir forced his voice not to falter, and smiled.

His fingers began to sweat around the leather reigns. Before he could dismount, Denethor was right at his side. He grabbed Boromir and pulled him down from the horse, jerking him into a rough embrace.

"Oh, Boromir! I've missed you so!" Denethor squeezed him tightly.

Boromir hugged him back, surprised how much he enjoyed the fatherly affection.

"I've missed yo-"

"So come, come!" Denethor interupted, the pleasantries over. He held Boromir out at arm's length. "Let me see it! Where is this One Ring?"

Boromir hesitated.

Denethor waited impatiently. His fingers tightened on Boromir's shoulders.

"Well? You have it, don't you? Why else would you be back?" Denethor forced a laugh.

Boromir looked down.

"Perhaps we should speak in a more private area," Boromir suggested wearily.

Denethor's eyes hardened. "You have it, don't you?" He repeated, his tone flat.

"I do not," Boromir admitted.

Denethor's eyes darted desperately around the crowd. He seized Boromir by the arm and drug him into the nearest alleyway, shoving him up against the cold stone wall.

"Explain yourself!" He hissed, his eyes wide and wild.

"There was a group formed, a Fellowship," Boromir said quickly. "Consisting of a Wizard, Elf, Dwarf, Hobb-"

"I don't _care!" _Denethor growled_. "Why don't you have it?"_

Boromir took a breath. "I was told it could not be controlled by anyone other than the Dark Lord himself."

"By whom?"

"By Isildur's heir. He travelled with me in the Fellowship."

Denethor's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed with spite.

"You let that traitor have the Ring?"

"They are not keeping it, Father," Boromir explained. "They intend to destroy it in the place it was made."

"No, no, no!" Denethor cried, releasing Boromir's shirt. He shook his head. "No, you must return! Isildur's heir-"

"Aragorn," Boromir put in.

"This _Aragorn_ cannot be trusted! His heart is tainted with the foolish blood of his relatives. His mind is full of shadows and greed. His only desire is to keep the Ring for his own selfish gain! He will betray them without question." Denethor stepped close to Boromir and stared fiecely into his eyes. "But us," he said sharply. "Our blood is _pure, _Boromir!_ You must return_, and take the Ring and bring it here! Gondor is the last safe place, but without the Ring's power it will all be destroyed. Don't you understand?"

Boromir swallowed dryly. "Father, I cannot return."

"Why not?" Denethor demanded.

"I was sent away, for it seemed I was not needed." Boromir looked away.

"Ahh..." Denethor grinned wickedly. "No doubt you were sent away by Aragorn, am I right?"

Boromir said nothing.

"I promise you, son, he is not to be trusted. A traiter may weave his lies into gold, but only a fool will believe him. Are you a fool?"

"But Father-"

"Enough of this!" Denethor exclaimed. "You will return to this Fellowship at once!"

"I cannot."

"You must!"

_"I won't!"_

Denethor struck Boromir across the cheek. Then with a shaking hand Denethor stroked the place where he had hit him.

"Now, my son," Denethor said thinly, as if out of breath. "You must listen to me. Listen to your father. Go, and bring me back the Ring."

Boromir raised his hard eyes. "No, Father."

Denethor's face turned red. He opened his mouth and took a deep, angry breath.

"Boromir?"

Boromir and Denethor turned.

Faramir stood in the alleyway. He grinned and went over.

Denethor stepped back coldly and Faramir hugged Boromir happily.

"Welcome back, brother!" Faramir said, patting him. Boromir felt his shoulders relax under his brother's kind touch. "So," Faramir smiled, letting him go. "How fared your quest?"

Denethor grunted and left the alley, disgusted.

Faramir watched him leave, puzzled, then turned back to Boromir.

Boromir sighed. "I was unable to get the Ring," he muttered.

"Oh," Faramir said lightly. "Just as well." He shrugged. "It would have driven Father mad if he actually had it."

Boromir smiled gratefully.

Faramir put his hand on his shoulder.

"Come," he said. "You look like you could use a drink."


	24. Chapter 24

_"My days are numbered..."_

Theodin sighed. He turned to Gandalf.

"I do not know how much longer I can withstand this burden."

Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are not alone," he said kindly. "There are many who feel the fate of the world rests on their shoulders. Consider Frodo," Gandalf added. "He truely does hold all our lives in his hand."

Theoden smiled grimly. "Yes... Then it does not take much to outmatch me in strength. No doubt that thing torments him day in and day out, yet he still stands strong."

"As do you, King Theoden. You, who have survived the influence of Sarumon-"

"Only by your Wizardry!" Theoden retorted. "If not for you, I would still be trapped under his spell, if not dead by now."

Gandalf stared at him, waiting patiently.

"If I am to withstand this..." Theoden went on gravely. "I may need you by my side."

"The Fellowship has survived this long in my absence," Gandalf agreed. "Certainly they can continue on without me."

"Thank you, Gandalf." Theoden said heavily, as if into those words he expelled all of his worries.

He went to the window and gazed out at the sunrise.

Down at the castle steps, silohouetted by the firey glow of the sun, Eowyn and Aragorn stood locked in a passionate embrace. Theoden wrinkled his forehead and Gandalf went to him questioningly and looked out the window. They stared down at them quietly, until Theoden turned away.

"She is so strong-willed," Theoden sighed wistfully. "But so foolishly blind."

Gandalf turned to him.

"Grief has dislodged her priorities," Theoden said matter-of-factly. "I fear she is losing control over her emotions."

Gandalf thought of many things to say, how Eowyn is indeed strong and will not break so easily, and how Aragorn, despite his rough exterior, is kind and would do his best not to hurt her. But doubts filled Gandalf's mind, and he didn't know what to say. When the pause remained unplayed, Theoden spoke at last.

"Come," he said. "Let us go down to them."

...

Aragorn closed his eyes. His lips parted and sucked and bit at Eowyn's, and his mind's eye filled with the portrait of Boromir. His crotch began to grow warm, and he dug his hands into Eowyn's hair, bringing her closer.

She let out an involuntary whine of pleasure as her hips connected with his, and she mumbled something about love and something being powerful, and Aragorn's eyes flew open.

No matter how much he wanted her to be him, Eoywn was not going to turn into Boromir. His erection dropped instantly and he let Eowyn go, his nerves tense and his expression angry.

Eowyn opened her eyes and squinted at him, confused. Then, not bothering to read into his emotions, she smiled and reached her arms towards him, wrapping her fingers around Aragorn's neck gently.

Repulsed by both her and himself, Aragorn smacked her away.

Eowyn grew angry. How dare he take advantage of me like this! Whet my fantasies, then spit on them! Well, she wasn't going to let him get away that easily. She grabbed him by the cheeks and pushed her lips into his, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

A sick feeling, like one feels when they realize they've just stepped on a dead animal, flooded Aragorn's stomach. Mixed with hatred and fury, Aragorn seized Eowyn by the shoulders and spun her around, letting her go towards the steps.

With a cry of alarm, Eowyn thudded into the stone steps. Tumbling down to the bottom like a rag-doll, she became quite still. Blood began to seep onto the stone around her head, and Aragorn stared at her, unable to breath, yet shivering with adrenaline.

Just then, Gandalf and King Theoden came out of the doors.

...

Faramir raised his goblet.

"To Boromir," he said boldly. "Who did all in his power to-"

"Please," Boromir ducked his head as people looked their way curiously. "Must you be so loud?"

"Are you not proud of what you've done?" Faramir questioned playfully. "Surely my older brother, the Captain of the armies of Gondor, and Father's favorite, is not _shy?"_

Boromir gave him a withering look.

Faramir looked away and waved at the bartender.

"Another pint for me and my brother!" He ordered.

"No more, Faramir, please," Boromir muttered, staring down at the table.

"What is wrong with you?" Faramir demanded. "You haven't even touched the one you've got." He slid Boromir's drink closer to him, but Boromir ignored it. "Are you feeling ill?" Faramir asked, his voice quieting.

Boromir hesitated. "Aye," he said at last. He stood up suddenly.

The bartender paused at their table, holding two frothy pints.

"No thanks," Faramir said bluntly to the bartender, standing up as well.

Boromir turned and left the bar, and Faramir hurried after him.

"Where are you going?" Faramir asked once he reached his brother's side.

"Must I have a destination?" Boromir asked heatedly, walking a bit faster.

"No," Faramir answered. "But is it not better to move with purpose?"

Boromir scoffed.

It was late in the morning, and though the sun was high in the sky, it was masked by a gray wall of clouds. The air felt oppressive and thick, and the world felt as if it were covered in shadow. Yet, the rain had yet to fall.

Faramir trotted along-side Boromir, who did his best to stay ahead. Boromir's feelings were beginning to swell up inside of him. His steps became unsteady and his eyes grew unfocused as he walked through Gondor's city.

"Boromir, slow down!" Faramir complained.

"Leave me be!" Boromir snapped.

"Will you just stop for a moment and tell me what is the matter?"

"It is nothing!"

_"Boromir!"_ Faramir grabbed him by the back of his shirt, but Boromir twisted away and went into a garden courtyard. Faramir followed.

A stone path circled the courtyard, where in the center there was a small fountain, and surrounding it were rose bushes and flowers. It would have been a very pretty sight, had the sun been shining down. But, as it were, the sun was shielded by the clouds and the courtyard seemed rather dull and gloomy.

Boromir stood in front of the fountain, his lip trembling. He couldn't look at Faramir.

"What happened on your quest?" Faramir asked gently, stopping behind him.

"I do not wish to tell you," Boromir said weakly. "It is shameful."

Faramir went to his side and stared at him. "I will not judge you, brother." His tone was fierce.

Tears filled Boromir's eyes_. I can't tell him all that has happened. I just can't._ He looked down into the shimmering fountain, seeing pebbles and coins and someone's lost boot. A calmness passed over him as he recalled his happiest moments on the quest. "I fell in love," he said with a smile.

"Truely?" Faramir was surprised.

Boromir thought about it. "Yes," he realized. I truely do love him. But how can that be? He asked himself. It doesn't matter, it is what it is. Love... He suddenly felt very giddy inside, but he didn't show it. He chewed on his lip which hadn't stopped trembling. "Yes," he said again. He looked at Faramir with shining eyes, a crooked drunkish smile on his face.

"Well, who is she?" Faramir asked. "Where did you meet her? Rivendell? Is it an Elf?"

Boromir shook his head. "You will hear no more from me," he said. "No more."

"You should go back to her," Faramir blurted out. "If you love her, take her! Bring her here, or stay in her country, but don't-"

"The one I love does not share my feelings."

"Are you sure?" Faramir pressed. "It's very unusual for someone not to adore you."

Boromir hesitated. "Quite sure." He slumped his shoulders and sighed.

"Was she in the Fellowship?" Faramir asked curiously.

"Yes-"

"Oh, nevermind. The Fellowship consisted of males. Wait, did you say yes?" Faramir tilted his head.

Boromir's face suddenly felt hot and clammy. "Yes, but no. I didn't mean to. I meant no." He said, trying to remain calm.

"Oh." Faramir frowned. He eyed his brother carefully. "What is her name?" He tested.

"I..." Boromir looked up at the sky as a raindrop hit him on the forehead. "I can't remember."

"Why do you lie to me?" Faramir asked, hurt.

"Why do you ask so many questions? I am tired, and it's starting to rain. Let us-"

"It is a female, isn't it?"

Boromir's stomach clenched. He looked Faramir in the eye, but he had no words to speak.

"It's not?" Faramir's mouth went dry. He left it hanging open without realizing it.

Guilt and fear and misery began running down Boromir's face in salty wet streaks. He looked down and away and covered his mouth with his hand to muffle a sob that threatened to jump from his lips.

"I'm so sorry," Boromir whimpered. "My heart has been cloven in two, and both pieces burn like fire inside of me."

Faramir wanted to step closer and comfort Boromir, but uncertainty and confusion made him want to recoil. He stayed still instead, watching with wide eyes.

Boromir wiped his eyes and stared at his hands, saddened even more to see them shaking. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Who has done this to you?" Faramir asked darkly.

But Boromir merely shook his head.

"Boromir, I-"

"Please leave me be," Boromir pleaded. When Faramir didn't move, Boromir added, "I wish to be alone. Please, Faramir."

"Of course," Faramir forced out. He turned curtly and left the courtyard.

Why did tell him? Boromir wondered, angry with himself. He balled his hands into fists and unballed them, not knowing how to vent out all of his emotions. Tears ran down his cheeks and soaked into his beard, dripping down from his hairy chin and dotting onto his boots and the ground. Please, brother... Don't tell Father.

The sky felt Boromir's sadness, and also began to weep.

...

Aragorn whirled around. Gandalf and King Theoden walked over to him. Theoden glanced around for Eowyn, and saw her lying at the bottom of the steps, cold in her own blood.

"Eowyn?" Theoden cried out, running down the steps to his niece.

"She fell, my Lord!" Aragorn called to him, unable to move.

Gandalf hurried over, then turned slowly to Aragorn. Their eyes locked.

"Oh my Eowyn, _please._ Wake up!" Theoden mourned, lifting Eowyn's lifeless head and cradling it in his lap.

Gandalf stared into Aragorn's eyes, penetrating his mind. Gandalf's eyes narrowed with hate.

"You threw her," he said darkly.

Aragorn clenched his jaw.

"Gandalf, _Gandalf!" _Theoden called desperately. "Help me!"

"I'm afraid she has passed on, King," Gandalf said fiercely, keeping his eyes on Aragorn.

"Is there nothing you can do?"

"I'm sorry," Gandalf turned his head to Theoden, but kept his eyes on the Man. "I cannot revive the dead."

Theoden carried Eowyn up the steps, her draped in his arms like an infant, over to Gandalf. His eyes were wide and wet and his cheeks were red with frustration. He offered her shakily to Gandalf, pleading silently for help.

"My Lord, I-"

"Aragorn threw her down," Gandalf interupted Aragorn.

"I did not, she-"

Gandalf struck Aragorn across the chin with his staff, sending him sprawling to the hard concrete ground.

"Lies!" Gandalf snarled. "Such lies. Your heart is filled with poison!"

King Theoden stared in disbelief. His legs were shaking and tears ran from his unblinking eyes. He held Eowyn tightly, protectively, even as her blood coated his royal garments.

Aragorn scrambled to his feet. He dusted his knees off casually, as if he had all the time in the world and it didn't matter if he wasted it.

"She provoked me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt her," Aragorn said grouchily.

"Be silent!" Gandalf raised his staff, and Aragorn flinched, then slumped his shoulders when Gandalf did nothing.

Theoden looked from Gandalf to Aragorn and back again. His eyes rested on Aragorn.

Aragorn looked at Theoden and deliberately licked the blood from his lips. It was warm and tasted like copper. Aragorn enjoyed the taste. His mouth and chin were throbbing but he ignored it and kept his eyes on Theoden as he studied him.

"You deserve death for your crime," Theoden said stiffly.

He glanced at Eowyn's still face, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly opened, her head tilted into his chest. Blood stained her hair and dribbled coldly from her lips. Theoden's expression was hard as he stared at her, but he wasn't going to let his emotions pass Aragorn's judgement for him.

"But..." Theoden hesitated and looked back at Aragorn. "Enough blood has been shed in these days. As Gandalf has said, your mind has been corrupted by the Ring. It seems Men are simply unable to resist its power."

Gandalf and Theoden looked at each other.

Aragorn's muscles twitched. He wanted to slay them both, right then and there, eradicate the evidence, and run away. But he waited.

"From this day forth, you are banned from Rohan by order of King Theoden," Theoden said boldly, stepping up to Aragorn. "And if you do take Gondor's throne, and you become its King, even then if you come back to Rohan, I will issue war on Gondor and kill your people until you are found and your head is stuck on a spear and lain at my feet!"

Aragorn paled but didn't shy away from Theoden. He smirked wickedly.

"Of course, my Lord." Aragorn bowed sarcastically and turned away. He walked slowly down the stone steps, heading out of Rohan, and no one tried to stop him.

The rain began to fall from the sky, and Gandalf gently lead Theoden back inside.


	25. Chapter 25

Enter Gandalf and Theoden.

With Eowyn lolling lifelessly in his arms, Theoden's steps were slow and careful and grave. Gandalf followed him closely, his head low and his staff barely off the ground.

Legolas, who had been chatting amiably with a guard, turned and saw them.

He rushed over.

"Is she alright?" Legolas asked breathlessly, though he quickly saw that she wasn't.

The guard looked around suspiciously. "What happened?"

The Hobbits left the dinning hall where they had been eating a late breakfast and came into the throne room where Gandalf and Theoden were. They saw the scene and Frodo stopped short in the hallway as Merry, Pippin, and Sam went on in. Gimli appeared in the hallway and slid around Frodo, strolling into the room heedlessly.

"What's going on?" Pippin asked, his voice too loud for the dull stillness of the room.

Eyes turned to Gandalf. Gandalf glanced at Theoden.

"Aragorn's mind has turned against him." Gandalf started. "He has been banished from Rohan for crimes against the kingdom and, from this day forth, cast out of the Fellowship."

"What?" Merry demanded.

"You mean,_ he _did this?" Sam gasped in disbelief.

"His heart has been twisted with evil; into something dark and foreign that he himself cannot possibly regonize," Gandalf said regrettably. "Or perhaps it is now that we see his true form... Either way, it is best for him to be gone."

Frodo snapped out of it and stepped forward.

"You can't banish him!" He cried indignantly. "He's part of the Fellowship: We need him! If he leaves, then we must follow. He's our leader!" Suddenly Frodo broke out into a sprint and ran out of the main entrance doors.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam chased him.

"Frodo!" Gandalf called angrily, then added quickly. "Get him back _now, _Samwise!"

"I'm on it, Mr. Gandalf, sir!" Sam answered, his voice fading away as went outside.

Frodo ran down the cold stone steps, unconciously hopping over the puddle of Eowyn's blood, rehydrated by the falling rain. Sam was right behind him: His labored breathing gave him away more than anything.

Down the road and into Rohan's grand little town they went. The rain fell on their shoulders and left wet footprints in their wake. It was chilling, but Frodo did his best to ignore it.

Skidding to a halt near the city's gate, Frodo came to the harsh realization that he didn't know where Aragorn had went. He spun in a circle, then again, slowly. He stared around desperately for any signs of Aragorn, but could see nothing that stood out any more than another thing. The rain fell like a curtain all around him, shimmering the world and forcing his length of vision to shrink.

Sam caught up.

"We need him, Sam," Frodo said without looking at him. He stared around with wide eyes, his hands shaking. He placed his hand on his wet chest, covering the Ring, seeking its comfort.

Sam gazed at Frodo sadly, blinking the rain from his eyes. He forced a small smile and put a hand on his shoulder. "Strider's not a good fellow anymore, Mr. Frodo," he said softly. "We need _good _people if we're going to survive this thing. And right now, we have each other."

Frodo looked at Sam.

"Can't that be enough," Sam went on. "At least for now?"

Frodo thought about it. Water ran from his hair and down his face, slipping down his shirt collar with a shockingly cold streak. But the Ring felt warm against his chest and his hand. It calmed him down. "Okay Sam," he said slowly. "I'm sorry. Let's go back."

Sam smiled genuinely and patted Frodo as if he were a good puppy. "Right! I'll all turn out good, Mr. Frodo, you'll see. You'll see."

Sam lead Frodo back to the castle, shielding him from the rain with the corner of his cloak.

...

The air felt thunderous and heavy, and Boromir hung his head and dragged his feet as was expected in such weather.

The rain fell silently from the sky, making itself known as it spattered down against stone pavement, roofs, fountains, and armor.

Boromir was rusting from the inside out. The rain was leaking in through his armor and soaking through his chainmail and underclothes, weighing him down and turning him into an old nail forgotten beneath the floorboards of a house. Lost, and uselessly ruined.

Suddenly the clopping of horse hooves brought him to attention.

"Boromir," Faramir called to him, riding over.

Boromir straightened up, acknowledging his brother by returning his stare.

"Where was that you purchased your horse?"

"Rohan," Boromir said warily. He ran his fingers through his slick hair, shaking his head a bit to dispel some of the water. "Why?"

"Rohan," Faramir said over his shoulder.

Boromir tilted to look around Faramir's horse and saw a band of twenty men at his back. They nodded sharply. One of them caught Boromir's eye, but quickly looked away.

"Why?" He repeated. "What are you doing?" Boromir asked sharply, stepping up to Faramir.

"Father has ordered me to go to Rohan and finish what you could not," Faramir said with pride, holding up his head.

"You intend to take the Ring."

Faramir hesitated. "Yes," he said at last.

"The Ring cannot be used as a weapon!" Boromir told him heatedly. "The Council of Elrond decided that the only thing to be done was to destroy it. Despair will fall upon us all if you bring it back here."

"How do you know?" Faramir retorted. "Did you ever _try?"_ Boromir's lips turned into a hard line, and Faramir understood the answer. "I didn't think so," he said snobbishly. "Father says it can be ours, that we are meant to have it, and that it can protect us from the war to come," Faramir went on, dronishly, as if brainwashed. "Now I _will not _fail him this," he said, locking his eyes onto Boromir's with great intinsity. "I _will not_ be like _you."_

Faramir spurred his horse and the men behind him followed on their horses, clomping past Boromir in a uniform line. Boromir held out his hand, calling "Stop!"

But the men didn't listen.

"I am your Captain!" Boromir barked. "I order you to stop!"

"Come along!" Faramir insisted to the men.

Furious, Boromir ran to his brother's horse and seized the reigns. Faramir tried to jerk them from Boromir's hands, but Boromir's grip was strong.

"Father put me in charge of the army," Faramir said in a low voice, almost regrettable. "Until you regain your senses."

Boromir's fingers tightened around the reigns, but not to restrain the horse. His body felt like it were trembling inside. He felt flushed despite the cold rain that ran down his back.

"I'm sorry." Faramir pryed Boromir's fingers away and rode past him. The twenty men flanked behind him, horses panting and the breath coming out in wet spurts as the rain splashed down their muzzles and into their nostrils.

After half a second's thought, Boromir ran to the nearest stable and "borrowed" a horse. He rode after Faramir and caught up with him easily, riding up beside him as Faramir lead his men out of the White City.

"Don't even try to stop me," Faramir warned.

"I won't," Boromir interupted before Faramir could say any more.

"Then why are you coming?"

Boromir's tongue thickened and he could not speak. His heart skipped a beat. He wanted to see Aragorn. There was a thrill stirring up from deep inside of him: Having this sudden opportunity to return to the Fellowship excited him.

"Boromir?"

Boromir started and glanced at his brother. "I may not be able to convince you of the Ring's corrupting powers yet, but I will."

Faramir looked away, unconvinced of his motives but not wanting to question him further. He secretly didn't want to know the truth, though he was afraid he already knew it.

Faramir rode on and the army of twenty plus Boromir followed. The rain battered them, clinking against their steel helms and shields, soaking them with its cold wetness. Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing nearer to them as they drew nearer to the storm, and the horses threw out their tireless legs and surged through the plains and mud, onwards to Rohan.

...

Evening came and darkness fell across the lands.

The rain ceased at last, leaving the ground saturated and puddled up with its inability to drink any more. The moon came out and lit up the valley in a soft white sheen, glistening its light on the dripping grass and shimmering in the patches of water.

Faramir raised his hand and the company halted.

"We will rest here for the night," he told them. "Be on your guard, for Orcs may patrol this area."

Faramir slid down from his horse, his boots slopping through the grass and into the thick mud. Boromir quickly got off his horse and went over to him, laboring against the pull of the mud on his feet.

"It isn't wise to camp in the open like this," Boromir told him. "Orcs_ have _been this way. On my way here, I found a village that had been-"

"_I _am in charge here, Boromir," Faramir said hostily. "Don't try to control things. If you do not like how I do it, I suggest you go home and cry to Father." Faramir turned and walked away to no place in particular, dragging his horse after him.

His small army followed Faramir's lead, dismounting their horses, with a few of them already lighting torches while others gathered wood for a fire. Boromir watched them, feeling oddly out of place. _It doesn't matter_, he told himself. Let him do as he pleases. He will discover soon enough that the Ring must be destroyed.

He took his horse to a tree and lashed it there, and he found a small measure of satisfaction as Faramir was forced to tie his horse to the same tree, having found no other suitable place to do so.

...

"What do we do now?" Merry whispered to Pippin.

Pippin bit his lip nervously. He had no answer.

"Seeing how... Situations have changed," Gandalf began to Theoden.

"Please, Gandalf," Theoden waved him away. "Let us speak later."

"We cannot dely much longer-"

_"Later, _Gandalf."

Gandalf stiffled an irritated sigh, forcing himself to bow slightly, then walked over to where Legolas and Gimli and the Hobbits waited.

"I do not know yet if he will still want me to remain here with him," Gandalf told the others gravely.

Legolas nodded understandingly, knowing he needed more time, that which they did not have.

"But we need you now more than ever, Gandalf!" Sam told him indignantly.

Gandalf sighed. "I told King Theoden I would stay here, seeing how you all came this far without me, and I can't break my-"

"We_ can't _make it to Mordor without you!" Pippin put in. "We've lost too many -Boromir, now Aragorn- we can't lose you, too!"

"It's okay," Frodo said in a low voice.

Everyone looked at him.

"It's okay to break your promise to me, but not okay to break the one to King Theoden. I understand." Frodo scuffed his shoe on the ground, staring at down.

"Frodo," Gandalf's eyes softened.

"After all," Frodo went on. "I'm going to die on this quest anyway. It'd be better not to see all my friends die on the way. It'd be better for you all to stay here..."

"Don't talk that way, Mr. Frodo!" Sam scolded anxiously. "We're not leaving you on your own. None of us! Right, guys?"

Merry nodded quickly. "Right! We're with you 'til the end, Frodo!"

Pippin was about to say something, but Gandalf spoke first.

"Let me speak with Theoden," he said. "I will sort things out with him and return to you as soon as I can. For now, go back to the chambers and rest. It is nearly nightfall, and we may be heading out in the morning."

Gimli and Legolas herded the Hobbits back to the chambers where they readjusted their blankets and pillows for another night in Rohan, with the rain tapping faintly against the vaulted ceiling's roof.

Gandalf stayed near Theoden as Eowyn's body was being prepared and her coffin decorated for the funeral procession, which was to be at first light.

Servants tried to offer the King wine and food, but he didn't move. One even offered to draw him a bath, but Theoden refused to leave, stubbornly demanding to see all the preporations for his niece's departure into the next life, if indeed there was one.

Gandalf didn't try to coax him away, instead standing by him as a friend, comforting him with his strong presense, humbled by their shared grief.


	26. Chapter 26

Early in the morning, Faramir woke the Men, moving silently from bed to bed until they were all awake.

Boromir had been awake for some time, but he pretended to be asleep as Faramir came to him. Boromir watched him through his eyelashes as he drew near. Faramir paused, his boots sinking in the wet ground near Boromir's pillow. He leaned down and gently placed his hand on Boromir's shoulder.

"Brother," he said in a whisper, shaking him once. "It is time to move on."

After a quick breakfast from their saddlebags, the Men mounted up and followed Faramir across the plains.

The air was brisk and damp, but the rising sun was bright and the clouds were few and gray, promising a humid afternoon.

Boromir kept his horse at a trot with the others, staying near Faramir, but off to the side. His teeth were set and his eyes were hard. He wondered what would happened once they reached Rohan. What would happen when they found the Fellowship. What would happen when they found the Ring. _What will happen when I see Aragorn, or when he sees me? _His stomach curled sourly, filling with coldness. He leaned further over his horse, arching his back until the feeling subsided. His hands began to shake and it made the beast beneath him nervous. He clinched his hands into fists around the reigns. He was afraid. His horse whinnied softly. They both were.

...

After a few hours of hard riding, they came upon the town that Boromir had passed on his way to Gondor.

It seemed less threatening to Boromir in the daytime. Piles of ash and rubble and wood were swollen and greyed with the recent rain. The corpses of animals and people were sunken in the muck, white bits of bone sticking up weakly like the first green sprouts in a garden.

Boromir watched Faramir, but he made no sign of alarm. He led the Men through the village without a word, and they followed him without hesitation.

Have you no heart beneath your breastplate? Boromir wanted to shout at him. He looked down at the blackened, bloated body of a child as his horse trotted easily by.

He scowled at his brother's indifference, but he also understood it. What good would it be to mourn, now? The town is dead, the enemy gone from the scene of the crime. The homes and shops were burned beyond repair. What good would it do to stop and feel sorry for the dead? Yes, Boromir understood how his brother must have felt, for he once had felt the same way over such things, but now he loathed the very feeling, and wished he could change it.

...

The clouds waved goodbye, passing over the sun in light patterns, casting soft shadows on the ground before dissolving out of sight. They left the sun alone, and it grew angry and sent its rays of heat down on the travelers in a sick attempt at justice.

The earth dried itself slowly. Dragonflies and grasshoppers darted out of the way as Faramir rode by, the grass flicking the last bits of rain onto the horse's legs. He wiped his forehead and straightened his helmet. Are we almost there? He wondered vaguely, glancing up at the sun.

Boromir was riding beside him in silence, and Faramir looked at him and smiled warmly as if he had only just realized he was there.

"Boromir!" Faramir cried.

Boromir looked at him oddly. "Yes, little brother?" He tilted the reigns so his horse moved closer to Faramir.

"How much longer, do you think, until we reach Rohan's gates?" Faramir asked grandly, looking forward as if he knew the answer and was merely testing Boromir.

"Five hours," Boromir offered. "Perhaps six. It depends on whether or not we rest again."

"Gondor's army does not need rest," Faramir scoffed laughingly.

Boromir didn't feel like mentioning their camping last night. He tugged his reigns and his horse slowed. Faramir moved ahead of him wordlessly.

The twenty Men tromped by on their horses, and Boromir watched them dully. He recognized some Men he had trained to fight. Others he had known since they were born. They were all so young. Or perhaps he was just so old. He sighed and hung his head once they passed. I do not want to fight them, Boromir thought wearily. Nor do I want to fight the Fellowship. He shook his head and kept riding, putting it out of his mind. He decided to deal with it when it came.

...

Legolas laid with eyes closed. He heard the rain against the roof, heard the Hobbits' faint breathing, heard the guards patroling the hallways. The guards were there to protect everyone and moniter for suspicious activity. The King of Rohan did not want the blood of another murder to run red against what was left of his dignity. Legolas understood that. Though, he didn't appreciate the guards that stood in the chamber where they were sleeping. Do they find me capable, he wondered, of killing an innocent?

He folded his hands on his stomach, resting them on top of the thin Elven blanket. If it eases Theoden's mind, let it be done. He sighed softly.

The Dwarf a few beds away coughed once in his sleep, and it startled Frodo. Legolas opened one eye and watched Frodo sit up sharply in his bed, look around, and see the guards in the doorway. Frodo stared at them, as if in a contest, until one of them inclined his head. Frodo laid back down, tucking the blanket over his ear. Legolas closed his eye.

_Why _did Aragorn kill Eowyn? That is one thing I cannot comprehend. They were friends as children, were they not? Why would he suddenly desire to cause her such harm? It was right of Theoden to send him away, but would it not have been best to discover his reason first? Perhaps she attacked him, thinking he was someone else, and he reacted against her as any Man would to an enemy? They both were in griveous states, Legolas mused thoughfully. One losing a cousin to a traitor, and the other losing a friend to madness. I suspect stress is the cause here, but I will most likely never know the real reason.

The rain began to slow, and with it slowed Legolas's heart and mind, until he drifted into a slumber full of softness and moonlit clouds.

...

Pippin woke before the others and stood up silently beside his bed. The guards at the door were walking away, down the hallway, as two more guards came up the hall to take their place. Their shadows stretched long and dark back into the chambers against the soft orange torch-light, bobbing comically.

In that instant while no one was looking, Pippin sprinted across the room and darted through a side door. He shut the door quickly behind him, grateful it didn't squeak on its hinges. He let out his breath as his heart beat stuttered.

He turned and found himself in a training room. Wooden swords and shields were stacked and leaning against the wall to his right. Straight ahead were wooden dummies wearing the helmets of Orcs and chainmail of Goblins. Fierce and silly faces had been carved and painted into them with what appeared to be blood. To the left, four floor-length windows evenly spaced into the wall. The windows faced South-East, so not much, but some of the morning light came in in the golden and purple tones that sunrises usually favor.

Pippin twirled around the room cheerfully. He grabbed a wooden sword and swung at a dummy's head, but the sword was much heavier than he expected and it flew from his grasp. He bit his lip and looked around fearfully as the sword clanked into the helmet and sent it clattering against the polished wood floors. But when no one came bursting into the room to find the source of the commotion, Pippin took it as a good sign.

He skipped over to a window and hopped in the ledge. The air was cold by the window, and Pippin pressed his nose into the glass. His breath fogged up around his face, and he squinted to see outside. A small garden was right outside the window, lined with flower bushes and vegetables and berries. In the cool morning light, the plants glistened with dew. A butterfly landed on a strawberry blossom. With a groan, his stomach reminded Pippin it was breakfast time.

_How do I get out there? _He wondered.

He looked behind him. The only way out was the way he'd come in, but he didn't want to risk going back out into the chambers and getting caught by the guards. How suspicious would that be?

His eyes rested on the helmet still rocking slightly in the floor. If they didn't hear that, he thought, walking over to the shield rack. Then surely they won't hear this... He grabbed a shield and, holding it out like a battering ram in front of his face, whirled around and charged, bursting straight through the window.

...

The humidity gradually fell away, but a chill remained in lone patches of shade while shimmering heat dominated everywhere else.

Luckily, the Men had refilled their flasks during the night, catching rain-water as it fell, so refreshment was not lacking. The horses were tired, but Faramir knew it would be best to keep going, if only at a slow walk. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Boromir near the end of the procession, looking glum and more like a prisoner than part of his army.

"Boromir!" Faramir called.

Boromir looked up, but didn't ride over to him until Faramir beckoned with his hand.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking," Faramir said evenly. "About what Father told me."

Boromir's eyes hardened.

"If I complete this task for him, he wants me not only to stay as Captain of his armies, but also to take your place as his successor." Faramir paused to let that sink in, watching Boromir from the corner of his eye. "What do you think about that?"

_I think many things,_ Boromir thought, gritting his teeth. But he let his anger seep through the gaps in his teeth, hissing quietly through his chapped lips. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, defeated. "If that is Father's will," he began wearily. "Then I cannot-"

"Black Rider!" A soldier shouted, having rode a few yards ahead of Faramir. He pointed in the direction of Rohan. "He is alone, but appears armed!"

Faramir spurred his horse and rode to where the solider was. Down a slight slope in the plains, a figure cloaked in black rode a black horse, heading towards them seemingly unknowingly.

"Come," Faramir said in a hushed tone, facing his Men. He drew his sword swiftly and his Men mirrored his actions. They charged down the hill after Faramir.

Boromir hesitated, stunned a bit by their sudden actions, and followed.

Faramir and his Men surrounded the Black Rider, their swords drawn and pointing at him threateningly. Boromir rode over and stopped short, not wanting to be apart of the absurdity of completely surrounding one person with twenty blades of steel.

"Who are you?" Faramir demanded. "Speak quickly now!"

The rider was wearing a black cloak, the hood draped over his eyes. His shoulders were hunched over his horse's neck as if the horse were about to jump over a fallen log. He kept his head down and didn't answer.

"Speak!" Faramir ordered.

Suddenly Boromir's eyes were opened. I know those shoulders, those gloves that grip those reigns, those boots that hang in those stirrups...

"Aragorn," he whispered.

As if he had heard him, the black rider raised his head and locked his eyes onto Boromir's.

Boromir's mouth went dry and his heart began screaming for it to be torn from his chest.

"Faramir!" Boromir said loudly, riding towards his brother.

Faramir looked at him.

"I know this man. He is no enemy. Let me speak with him." Boromir glanced at Aragorn before resting his eyes on Faramir pleadingly. "Please," he added.

Faramir stared at Boromir for a long moment. "This is he, isn't it?" He mumbled. Faramir jerked his horse away from the circle of Men.

"We ride on!" Faramir called.

"But, Captain-"

"Now!" Faramir snapped, glaring at the solider that spoke.

The Men pulled their horses away and followed Faramir onwards to Rohan.

Faramir looked over his shoulder as he rode away. He stared at his brother longingly, like a child who drops a toy out of the window of a car, wanting it so badly now that it's gone, but knowing it's impossible to turn around.

Boromir watched his brother disappear over the next hill with the Men, offering no explanation even to himself.

Alone, he turned to Aragorn, who wordlessly removed his hood.


	27. Chapter 27

_"Pippin?"_

Merry smacked the lump of sheets in the bed beside him, confirming that his friend was gone.

"Pippin!" Merry whispered angrily, looking around. "Where have you gone?"

"What's the matter?" Sam grumbled, sitting up.

"Pippin's gone." Merry felt eyes on him and turned. The guards at the door were staring at him. Merry quickly went over.

"Hi, have you seen another Hobbit, like me, pass by here?" He asked quickly.

"Nay, I have not, sir," the guard told him, glancing at the other guard.

"He could not have gotten by us," the other replied confidantly.

"Oh," Merry said uncertainly. "I'll look again."

"What troubles you, Merry?" Legolas asked as Merry hurried back to the beds.

"I can't find Pippin, and the guards said he hasn't left."

Legolas looked at the guards, noting they were different from the ones last night.

"Perhaps he's hiding from you," Legolas suggested weakly.

"Pippin!" Merry shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Gimli let out a pig-like squeal and jumped out of bed. He seized his axe and whirled around, his eyes wide. "What happened?" He demanded.

No one bothered to explain.

"He's gone," Frodo said suddenly, unblinking from where he sat on the bed.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," Sam put in. "The little bugger probably just went to the bathroom."

Frodo got out of bed and stood, swaying awkwardly like a toddler, watching Merry rush around with unfocused eyes.

Merry went around the room and checked under all the beds, behind all the tapestries on the walls, and in all dark corners, but Pippin was nowhere to be found.

Then he saw a door near the entrance to the chamber room, where the guards were. He walked over to the door and tried the handle. It turned willingly beneath his grasp.

The guards said nothing, but watched him carefully as Merry went inside.

...

"Why did you not say anything?" Boromir burst out. "They would have killed you had I not stopped them."

"I saw you," Aragorn muttered.

"What?" Boromir did not hear him properly.

"I knew you would stop them."

Boromir swallowed but a lump clogged his throat. He blinked rapidly until his eyes quit burning. He glanced down at his horse's neck, picking at a dead leaf dried in its mane.

"Where are you going?" He asked, glancing at Aragorn shyly.

"North," Aragorn said shortly. He lifted his chin and stared off in said direction.

"What of the Fellowship?" Boromir queried.

"I, like you, was no longer needed."

Boromir rode his horse closer to Aragorn. "Are you wounded?"

"What?" Aragorn flinched and glared at Boromir suspiciously.

"There's blood on your sleeve."

Boromir reached for him, but Aragorn quickly backed his horse away. Aragorn recalled wiping his mouth after he had left Gandalf's sight, after Gandalf had struck him.

"It's nothing."

Boromir lowered his hand. His heart was pounding and he was disappointed in this reunion. He had expected something else, though he was not sure what.

Silence followed, and the horses snuffed and stomped their feet impatiently in the heat.

Suddenly Aragorn kicked his horse and began walking North.

"Wait!" Boromir insisted desperately.

Aragorn turned his head towards him.

"My brother- he intends to raid Rohan and take the Ring back to Gondor," Boromir rushed out, stopping his horse in front of Aragorn's. "You must help me stop him."

"Why?" Aragorn asked sourly. Boromir hesitated, so Aragorn went on. "Was that not_ your _plan all along? Now that someone is carrying it out for you, you want it stopped?"

"It may have been my orders, but it was never my plan," Boromir said quietly. "I believe what you said, that the Ring only answers to Sauron, and I, too, wanted it to be destroyed. I did not want this to happen."

"Say what you want, but I will not believe you." Aragorn shook his head disapprovingly.

Boromir suddenly felt a flush of heat. Anger roared up inside of his chest and his lips parted to expell his frustration_. "Why don't you believe me?"_ He demanded. "Have I _ever_ tried to deceive you? Have I _ever _caused you harm? My body and soul belong to you in whole, and yet you throw my words aside as if I mean nothing to you!"

Aragorn felt nausea curling in his stomach with a wave of dizziness, he met Boromir's eyes but only barely.

"After all we have been through," Boromir went on. "After all we have done- after all_ I _have done for _you!" _He corrected. "I lived and breathed for you night and day, swallowing down my moral principles and suffering through constant shame, telling myself it was for Gondor." He took a shaky breath as tears filled his eyes, then kept on. "_How_ can you sit there and call me a liar? Tell me how!"

Aragorn stared cooly at Boromir for a moment, trembling on the inside. He dismounted his horse and dropped the reigns, letting the horse wander away to graze. Aragorn was surprised how weak his legs felt, but he wasn't about to topple over. The desire to draw his sword was strong. Aragorn wanted to run Boromir through the heart, to feel its final beat vibrate up his blade.

Boromir slid off his horse and took a step towards Aragorn, tears streaming down his hairy cheeks.

"Can you say," Boromir asked. "That after all of it, you do not feel for me?"

"I can," Aragorn answered thinly.

Boromir stepped closer. "Then say it."

Aragorn clenched his jaw. "I love you not."

"I don't believe you," Boromir said instantly.

"Then you are a fool."

Boromir didn't deny it. He thought he was a fool, for acting this way, for blinding accepting everything Aragorn said as truth and never fighting against him. For falling in love like he did.

Suddenly he thought of Faramir, the humiliation he must be feeling for having his older brother act upon such vile impulses. The shame of such a secret much be crushing him to the ground. Faramir had to prove himself better than he, even if it meant bending to the will of a mad father. He will be in Rohan soon, Boromir realized suddenly, his heart quickening. I have to stop him.

Aragorn glanced at his horse, then narrowed his eyes. It was licking Boromir's horse as if they were great friends. Aragorn went over and snatched the reigns, pulling them away from each other.

Boromir thought he was going to try and leave him again.

"Please don't go," he begged.

"You are no friend of mine, and I am no king of yours," Aragorn told him bluntly. He mounted his horse skillfully. He looked down upon Boromir, as he saw fit to do. "What reason do I have to stay?"

"Help me," Boromir offered. "Help me stop Faramir. If not for me, than for Middle Earth. If my brother takes the Ring and gives it to my father, then war will break out and we will all perish. Not just Gondor, but everyone."

"Why did you even let him get this far," Aragorn demanding accusingly. "If you knew his intent? Why would you not have stopped him before he left your city's gates?"

"I... I needed an excuse," Boromir mumbled, downcasting his eyes.

Aragorn almost asked why, an excuse for what? But he knew why. He knew.

He closed his eyes. He imagined what it would be like, going back North as a Ranger. He would stay hidden, naturally, committing the odd crime or two to help get him by. He would fight back if attacked, lie if he were questioned. Stick to the shadows and live as he pleased.

Arwen would never take him back. She would see the look in his eye and know what he had done, and she would never love him again. There was no point to hope for redemption.

If the Ring did happen to be destroyed while he was away, then the world lose what made it interesting. But if Sauron reclaimed it, then he would never get bored. Like him, enemies would hide in the shadows, but he would slay them before they could even take their thumbs out of their butts.

He would live as an immortal, with the lifespan of Elves, but the after the Elves had all been slaughtered, he would remain. The last Man on an earth full of Orcs and Uruk-hai and other dark creatures. What a lonely and peaceful life that would be.

He smiled and opened his eyes. Below him, crusted with dried mud and sweat, Boromir stood staring at him with an intensity that he could not place. Aragorn's smile faded.

The earth was damp, but under the heat of the sun, it swelled and stank like a rotting cow. The sky was clear of clouds and such a bright blue that it almost appeared white. The horse between Aragorn's legs sneezed and shook its head, swishing its tail at the flies that were drawn to its sweat.

"Is that all?" Aragorn asked at last, since Boromir seemed to be at a loss for words.

"For my part," Boromir said carefully.

Aragorn looked away. North, he thought, will be a nice place to live. Boromir cannot succeed in stopping his brother, or else I may not have as much fun. He trotted his horse over to Boromir's. Aragorn reached over and took the reigns.

Boromir watched him expectantly. Get on, Boromir, and we shall ride to Rohan together, he wanted him to say.

But instead of speaking, Aragorn drew his sword and sliced up into his horse's throat. Blood spurted out and the horse let out a gurgling cry before rearing up and falling heavily onto its side. Aragorn backed his horse calmly away, wiping off the blood that had spattered on his face.

Boromir couldn't move. He wanted to rush over to his struggling horse, but what good would that have done? In the next moment, the horse went still, its eyes wide and glassy, thick blood running out like a waterfall from its neck. The ground gulped the blood greedily.

What have you done? Boromir tried to say, but he only thought it. His nerves twitched.

Aragorn cleaned off his blade by wiping the flat side off against his horse's shoulder. His horse didn't mind. It chewed cud slowly, unconcerned that one of its kind had just been killed.

"Good luck beating your brother to Rohan," Aragorn said wickedly, sheathing his sword. "The hour is late, and-"

Boromir screamed and dove into the air, tackling Aragorn off the horse.


	28. Chapter 28

Merry walked into the training room. The first thing he noticed was the helmet lying on the floor. The second thing he noticed was the draft. He went to the window, shocked to see it shattered, and peered out.

In the bushes near a patch of strawberries, Pippin laid on his side, his back to Merry.

Merry smiled at his silly little friend, seeing him covered in strawberry juice.

"What have you gotten into, Pip?" Merry chided.

Pippin rolled over, hugging his arm to his chest. The bright red juice was soaking his shirt front. "Merry?" Pippin groaned and licked his lips.

"Having a bit of breakfast, are we?" Merry stepped around the glass and stood in the window ledge, staring down at Pippin. "Could you not have found a door?"

"It _hurts_, Merry..." Pippin curled his knees to his chest.

"I suspect so." Merry nodded gravely. "Too much fruit'll do that too you."

"I'm sorry, Merry. I'm so sorry." Pippin trembled violently and then held himself still, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Don't tell me that," Merry said blandly. "You can tell King Theoden yourself. It's _his _window you broke, not mine."

He stepped down from the window carefully, avoiding the shards of glass. He reached towards Pippin. "Come on, up you get." He took Pippin's arm and tried to pull him up, but his arm was so covered in berry juice that it slipped from Merry's grasp. Merry stumbled back a step, then looked at his hands. "Funny," he mused aloud. "This juice is really hot..."

Merry licked his finger, and the horror of recognition punched him in the face. Blood. Blood...? _Blood!_

"Pippin!" Merry cried. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry!" Pippin said again. "I didn't mean to fall..." He let out a small groan.

Merry felt sick, seeing the blood covering Pippin's body and coating the bushes and tainting the fruit. The bits and pieces of glass on the ground shimmered with red.

"Let me see." Merry knelt beside Pippin.

Pippin held out his arm shakily, holding onto it with his other hand. Blood ran down between his weak fingers.

"Move your hand," Merry ordered.

Pippin obeyed. Blood gushed out from a gash in his muscle, twitching and bubbling like a pot of boiling water.

Invisable hands stretched apart Merry's eyelids.

"Don't they smell good?" Pippin asked softly.

"What?" Merry bit back his fear.

"The strawberries..."

Tears whelled in Merry's eyes. He closed his hand over Pippin's gash. The blood pounded against the palm of his hand, trying to get out. Some of it did, slipping warmly across Merry's hand and down his arm.

"I'm scared, Merry," Pippin said suddenly.

"It's okay, Pip," Merry said soothingly. He sank down to his knees so he could hold onto Pippin's arm more tightly. He glanced around for any signs of people. No one. The little garden was quiet, apart from the crickets and the soft hum of the bees.

Merry took Pippin's hand, guiding him to hold his wound again. Merry stood up.

"Where are you going?" Pippin asked, panicked. He tried to sit up, but his hair was tangled in the bushes and it tugged him back.

"Nowhere, lay back down," Merry told him.

Pippin blinked slowly, laying his head down, watching Merry.

Merry stuck his head back in the window, leaning over the jagged ledge and cutting up his clothes and scratching his stomach_. "Help!"_ He screamed. "Legolas!"

"Is it that bad?" Pippin asked quietly as Merry sat down beside him.

"No, not really," Merry kept his tone light. "It's just, I can't carry you back inside. You've gotten too fat."

"You're one to talk," Pippin retorted weakly. "You're the one that eats so much bread..."

Merry forced a laugh, straining his ears for any sign that help was arriving. "Yeah." He smiled thinly. "Yeah..."

...

Gandalf went with King Theoden to the funeral of his son and niece. Gandalf didn't want to bring the rest of the Fellowship along, seeing how one of them was the cause of Eowyn's death, so he left them in the castle to sleep and regain their strength.

Theoden was grateful and he let Gandalf speak for him in that great, assertive voice of his. Wreaths of flowers were placed on the coffins and townspeople gathered in mourning. Black was the color of choice, for it is as dark and lonely as midnight.

After Gandalf's brief speech on the bravery of the two relatives and their strong spirits that shall live on in everyone's hearts, Theoden started everyone in song. A song without instruments, to which all the people sang without fear of how they might sound. For is not alleviating another Man's grief more important than the fear of being judged by one's singing? So is how the people thought, and all their voices joined as one to carve through the dark bitterness of death in hopes of bringing back the joy and sunshine.

...

"Thank you, Gandalf," Theoden said after the tombs were shut and the people dispersed to their homes. "I know you wanted so badly to move on to Mordor, and yet you stayed here for me. Thank you."

Gandalf bowed humbly. "I am glad to be of service," he said.

Theoden sighed, watching a flag of Rohan blow in the wind from atop a nearby shop. "Will death ever cease in this place?" He asked regretfully.

"Not as long as we are mortal," Gandalf replied.

Theoden smiled slightly. After a moment of thought, he patted Gandalf on the shoulder. "Come. There is no sense in mourning the dead," he said lightly. "They will stay dead no matter what we may hope for."

Before Gandalf could say anything, Theoden went on.

"And as soon as your Hobbit friend destroys that Ring, death will come when nature decides, not violence or war."

Gandalf smiled because that's what Theoden wanted to see when he looked at him. Theoden patted Gandalf again, and Gandalf patted him back.

...

Aragorn was uncertain whether or not he had ever been more aroused than he was at that moment. With Boromir on top of him, pounding his fist repeatedly into his face, lust burned within him and he wanted to laugh and scream and cry. His legs twitched and he wanted to kick Boromir off of him, chop off his head, and rape the bloody neck-hole. But he wanted to feel this, those hard knuckles bursting into his chin, his lips, cutting against his teeth and splitting apart his skin. He wanted to see how long he could take it.

Boromir was yelling something with the most hateful voice that Aragorn had ever heard, but he couldn't understand the words. It was just loud noise, and combined with the constant thumping of Boromir's fists into his face, the sounds just muddled together like two different songs playing at the same time. A dazed expression passed over Aragorn's face, and stayed there.

Boromir seized him by the throat and lifted him up, then slammed him down against the ground. His fingers tightened around Aragorn's windpipe, his eyes dark, dark gray and blushed red from their watering. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._ Boromir thought blindly as he screamed obscenities, his body shaking all over. But then his eyes met Aragorn's, and something soft cusioned his anger. _Are you crying?_ Boromir wondered in amazement.

Suddenly, Boromir released him, leaning back and sitting on his heels, still straddling Aragorn. He sat there, his hands trembling in blood fists at his sides. His mouth was open and he sucked in his breath rapidly, his heart racing. He avoided Aragorn's eyes, staring instead at the gored body of his horse, that moments ago had been a living, breathing creature. _I cannot kill you,_ he thought, and in admitting that to himself he felt oddly at peace.

Aragorn blinked, seeing purple and white behind his eyelids. He coughed violently for a moment before taking in a deep breath. Blood ran down from his cracked teeth and puddled in the back of his throat. He swallowed it, but more kept coming. He reached up tenetively and touched his swollen, busted lips, but he could not feel them. Then he realized Boromir on top of him, but not pinning down his arms anymore, and he sat up sharply and shoved Boromir off of him.

Boromir fell over onto his side but quickly jumped to his feet, his eyes wide and alert.

"I don't feel good," Aragorn said drowsily, poking his thumb into a gash in his cheek unconsciously.

Boromir relaxed slightly.

"What did you do to me?" Aragorn asked, rocking side-to-side, his mind swimming. He looked up at Boromir, seeing him as if from a great distance. His head began to throb, and his vision pulsed with it.

"You had gone mad," Boromir told him stiffly.

"Had I?" Aragorn asked, slumping over on himself. He crossed his arms over his chest in a weak attempt to stop the world from shaking him apart. _Why am I feeling so ill?_ "I believe I have a fever," he muttered, raising his hand to cover his forehead.

Boromir went to him, moving Aragorn's hand out of the way and replacing it with his own. "Tis possible," Boromir concluded.

"Where are we?"

"About fifteen miles from Rohan," Boromir told him.

"Rohan?"

Boromir felt a pang of guilt. I've hurt him too much, he thought miserably. He went over to his dead horse and removed the flask of water from his saddle bag. He brought it back to Aragorn and held it to his lips.

"Drink," he said.

Aragorn drank, or at least, he tried to. His mouth was broken and bruised, numbed by the damage Boromir had done, and it no longer knew how to hold water. It ran down between his gaping lips, mixing with blood.

Aragorn coughed and sputtered. "Is that sand?" He asked madly. "What a cruel joke."

Boromir frowned. "No," he said, then took a drink from the flask to be sure. "Just water." Then it hit Boromir that perhaps he had shattered some of Aragorn's teeth, and he was drinking the grit. Shame, shame. He hung his head guiltily. "I'm sorry, Aragorn," he said pathetically.

Aragorn waved at him dismissively. "It's nothing to fret over, just don't tease me like that again."

Boromir glanced up. The sun was high in the sky, soon to be dipping down towards the West. No doubt Faramir was in Rohan by now.

"We must go," he said, standing up.

"Where?"

"Rohan."

"Why?"

"Do you remember Frodo, and the Ring?" Boromir asked.

"Of course I do!" Aragorn snapped. He stood up to emphasize that he was no weakling or fool. But he did not divulge what all he remembered, or what he forgot.

"He's in Rohan, and he may be under attack." Boromir caught Aragorn as he stumbled on his own feet.

"Then why are we here? We must go to him!" Aragorn pushed himself away from Boromir and walked in a uncertain line, headed to his horse, which was eating grass a few yards away.

Boromir followed and helped him mount up, getting on the back with him. He wrapped his hands around Aragorn's waist, taking the horse's reigns.

"Hold on tight," Boromir told him gently.

"I'm not a child," Aragorn scoffed, but he held on to the horse's mane as he was told.

Boromir kicked the horse and it lept forward, quickly beating its pace into a gallop. Aragorn lolled in front of him like a potato sack, and Boromir did his best to hold him upright with his arms, stretching out in front of him and steering the horse with his fingers wrapped around the thin reigns. I hope we are not too late, Boromir thought, seeing the tracks of Faramir's army blurr underfoot as they gained speed. _Please,_ don't let us be too late.


	29. Chapter 29

Faramir rode confidantly into Rohan, and no one questioned him or his Men. After all, Rohan and Gondor were friends.

His eyes swept the town, lingering on the curious townspeople's faces only long enough to determine they were not who he sought after._ If I were the enemy, _he thought, I would plunder the village and burn it to the ground and still never find what I am after. His eyes drifted upwards, across the town to the castle._ If I were the King, _I would keep what is most precious to me in the safest place possible: My home.

Faramir smiled slyly and nodded to his Men. They touched the hilts of their swords readily. Faramir tapped his horse into a trot and they clopped up the road towards the castle.

...

"I can't feel my toes."

"It's okay, Pippin. You're just sitting on them funny, is all."

"I can't feel my fingers, either. Or my hands."

Merry couldn't speak. He flinched as he heard glass crunching. He looked up as Legolas came to the window and saw them.

"Help me," Merry begged, staring up at Legolas with wide eyes. Pippin's head was in his lap, and Merry was hugging him with one hand and trying to staunch the blood flow with the other.

Legolas stepped down quickly and knelt down beside them, studying Pippin's wound and the amount of blood he had already lost.

"This is beyond Elfish remedies," he said, standing up.

"What can we do?" Merry asked.

"Yes, I'd like a pint," Pippin chuckled weakly.

Legolas glanced at Pippin then looked around. "We must get Gandalf," he decided. He bent down and lifted Pippin into his arms. "I'll take him inside and do what I can for his pain, but you _must _go get Gandalf."

Merry nodded sharply. "Right." He ran away and dove over a rose bush, running towards the town.

"He went to the hillside with King Theoden for the ceremony!" Legolas called.

"Okay!"

Merry ran as fast as he could, his bare feet flying under him like the wings of a bird; light, quick, and virtually unfeeling. _Hang on, Pippin, _he thought. I'll find him for you. Don't you worry.

"Merry?" Pippin craned his neck in Legolas's arms, trying to see where Merry had gone.

"It's alright, Pippin," Legolas said softly. "He'll be back soon. Let's get you inside."

Legolas stepped up into the window and headed back to the chamber room.

...

Gandalf and Theoden walked calmly up Rohan's streets towards the castle. Their steps were slow and deliberate, and they walked in the peacefulness of eachother's silence.

Townspeople and soliders bowed their heads and some whispered their condolences to the King as they passed, to which Theoden would nod and express his thanks.

"My heart is heavy, Gandalf," Theoden said after a few minues of walking. "Tell me not to grieve, and I will strive to quit."

"I cannot tell you not to grieve," Gandalf replied. "Because grieving is what the heart must do in order to accept the fate of a loved one."

"I will never accept it," Theoden said bitterly. "For murders are never acceptable."

"Eowyn would not have wanted-"

"You do not know what she would have wanted!" Theoden snapped.

Gandalf fell silent. His pain is great, to lose a son and also a niece who he raised as a daughter. I can sympathize, but not comprehend what he is feeling.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "That you suffer so much from their passing."

King Theoden didn't answer.

They walked for a few more minutes, the silence now tense with negative energy, and the castle slowly came closer.

"Riders from Gondor!" A guard called out.

Theoden jerked his head around until he saw the guard who gave the announcement. The guard was posted on the roof to the blacksmith shop.

"Where?" Theoden demanded.

"In the city, My Lord," the guard replied. "They just passed through the gates."

"How many?"

"Twenty and one, My Lord."

Fury tore across Theoden's face. He gritted his teeth and turned dramatically towards the gates, drawing his sword.

"I told him not to return," he hissed. "I told him there would be war._ I told him!" _He turned to the guard. "Sound the alarm! This is war!"

The guard immediately slung a horn off of his shoulder and blew it.

"Theoden," Gandalf said quickly. "These Men are not our enemy. Aragorn could not have made it to Gondor in time to rally an army. I know for certain that he hasn't been in-"

Suddenly the bells broke out, clanging their warning song with desperation. Townspeople whimpered and gathered their children, and, seeing the King in the streets, huddled around him for instruction.

"Go to the castle!" He told them loudly. "You know where to hide."

Soliders came from out of nowhere and gathered around the King, their weapons drawn and their faces hard and unquestioning. Theoden brandished his sword and began marching down the streets.

"Theoden," Gandalf pressed, trotting after him. "Listen to reason! Gondor is not-"

But then Gandalf's eyes beheld a strange sight, once of which he did not at first believe: Aragorn and Boromir riding into Rohan.

With a scowl of hatred, Gandalf stuck his fingers to his lips and whistled for his horse. Shadowfax appeared moments later from behind a barn and Gandalf mounted him in a quick flash of white cloak, and they charged.

...

Frodo and Sam hovered around Pippin's bed while Legolas worked to stop his bleeding. Gimli stood a few feet away, scratching his beard with stubby fingers. The guards at the door brought Legolas towels and bandages, then stood watching, feeling like it was there fault for letting Pippin get out of their sight.

Pippin slipped away into unconciousness, the loss of blood draining his will to stay awake.

Legolas numbed his arm and applied a paste to cover the wound, but the blood just wouldn't stop. Legolas felt like he was shaking, but his hands were steady as he worked. His feminine Elven clothes were ruined with blood, which soaked and spread through the fabric like rust.

"Why won't it stop?" Sam asked drlyly, feeling dizzy as Legolas removed a dripping-wet towel from Pippin's arm and replaced it with a clean one.

"The wound runs deep," Legolas said softly, his expression tight, yet sad.

Suddenly Frodo turned away and threw up in the floor.

"Aww, Mr. Frodo..." Sam patted him.

Frodo stayed hunched over, trembling from head-to-toe. His wide blue eyes stared at the puddle of vomit while he gasped for air through his mouth.

The bells of war rang out, and the guards quickly abandoned their posts and ran down the hall.

"What does that mean?" Sam asked Legolas.

Legolas didn't answer, but he knew what it meant. It must be a mistake, he thought.

Gimli picked up his axe and followed the guards out of the chamber without a word.

Frodo retched again, more violently this time, but nothing came out.

...

Clippity clop, clippity clop. The horses' feet made happy sounds as they walked steadily up the road.

Faramir led the way, smiling at children as they stared and nodding at old ladies gathering chicken eggs.

They welcome us inside like Lords, he thought greedily. It will not be hard to find the one who bears Isildur's Bane.

"Stay with me," Faramir said to his Men, just to give an order for them to follow. But his Men were already close behind him, and they could not get any closer for fear of spooking the horses.

The horses heard it first, their eyes flicking upwards towards the sound, before Faramir heard it: The warning bell.

Faramir's brow knitted with confusion as the townspeople scattered with fear.

"How could they know? Who told them we were coming?" Faramir asked loudly. He turned to glare at his army, but before he could interrogate them, he saw Boromir and that black rider coming through Rohan's gates.

"Curse you, brother," Faramir said under his breath. He did not pause to think how impossible it was for Boromir to have alerted Rohan before he could get there; he was too certain of that being the case. He drew his sword and turned back to the castle. "We finish this now!" He cried, stabbing the heels of his boots into his horse's flanks. It lunged forward and ran up the road, and Faramir's little army followed.

...

Merry ran through the town.

"Gandalf!" He hollered, stumbling and panting from exhaustion. "Help, someone! I need to find the King!"

He covered his ears as the bells clanged nearby, skidding to a halt. Slowly he uncovered his ears, realizing the bells were not going to stop right away. He looked around quickly, and saw the brightest white horse he had ever seen.

_Shadowfax!_ He thought hopefully. He ran down the road after the horse.

"Gandalf!" He screamed, but Gandalf didn't hear him, so Merry kept running.

...

The town was quickly emptied of all people apart from the soldiers themselves. The people rallied to the castle where they barricaded the doors and windows for extra protection.

"Gondor has declared war on Rohan!" Theoden shouted as he marched. "They come to us with a small army, but it is _still _an army! We will wipe them out, and regather our forces and take down the White City itself!"

Cheers raised up from the hundreds of soliders.

"It would be wise for you to stay at the castle, My Lord," a solider told him once the cheers died down. "Let us take care of these Men."

"Do not tell _me_ what is wise," Theoden said darkly. "For vengence is what weilds my blade, and justice will be done on this day by my hand and my hand alone."

The solider bowed respectfully and fell back in the ranks.

King Theoden's muscles twitched expectantly. And justice, he thought, is bitter, yet sweet. _So_ sweet.

...

Very soon, Faramir realized that they were way outnumbered. He had not expected a battle. Just a quick in-and-out type quest. But seeing how Boromir had somehow ratted them out to the King, a fight seemed inevitable. _Unless..._

A head of curly brown hair passed by his horse, and Faramir quickly snatched onto it and jerked it up onto his horse.

"A hostage," Faramir said proudly, grinning wickedly at the young person he had captured.

"Let me go! Let me go!" The child cried, kicking and thrashing wildly_. "Gandalf!"_

"Be still, child, or I'll slit your throat," Faramir retorted.

"I'm not a child! I'm a Hobbit!" The Hobbit snarled.

Faramir's eyes widened. I heard that there were Hobbits in the quest of the Ring, he thought. Perhaps he is one of them.

"Why are you in Rohan, young Hobbit?" Faramir asked lightly.

"Let me go, _please!_" Merry begged. "My friend is hurt- I gotta get Gandalf!"

"Tell me why you're here, first." His tone darkened dramatically. Faramir's grip around Merry's waist tightened.

Merry hesitated. He looked at Faramir closely. _He's wearing the same type of armor Boromir wears. _His eyes lifted beyond Faramir at the twenty Men at his back. They must be from Gondor... They're after the Ring! He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Faramir frowned. "Fine," he growled. "Then you're coming with me."

Merry screamed one last time for Gandalf before Faramir hit him with the hilt of his sword, and knocked him out cold.


	30. Chapter 30

The staff struck him right across the chest, flinging him back into Boromir and knocking both of them off the horse.

Boromir landed sideways on the hard stone ground, and then Aragorn landed on top of him. Boromir rolled out from under Aragorn, who winced and sat up, then stared in amazement.

_"Gandalf?" _Aragorn was awe-struck.

Gandalf raised his staff again, but Boromir quickly jumped in-between them, holding out his hands defensively.

"No, Gandalf! Stop!" He begged.

Gandalf glared down at Boromir hatefully. "_How dare you _return to this place!" He spat. "And bringing _him_ back as well, of all people!" He slid off his horse and stepped up to Boromir, as if daring him to defy him. "Come back for the Ring, have you? You and Gondor's army?" Gandalf drew his sword and pointed it and his staff at Boromir's chest.

"We came back to stop them," Boromir said thinly, stiffening but not backing down.

"Gandalf, how is it that you still live?" Aragorn asked softly, stepping out from behind Boromir.

"Why are you so surprised?" Gandalf asked heatedly. "Did you tell them to kill me first?"

"What?" Aragorn frowned. He looked around and saw very faintly the small army of Gondor trotting away into the city. He turned to Boromir. "Why are they here?" He asked, confused.

"It is my fault, not Aragorn's." Boromir glared at Gandalf. "Do not blame him for anything. His heart was corrupted, but now it is pure."

Gandalf studied Aragorn briefly then narrowed his eyes at Boromir. "And what of your heart? Nothing has changed in you, that much I can tell."

Boromir sighed. "I have committed many an evil deed, but I wish to redeem myself. Please, let us pass so that we may stop the Men of Gondor before it is too late."

Aragorn rubbed his face with his hands. "I do not understand this," he murmered. "Why are we all so divided?"

"You may go, Boromir," Gandalf said darkly. "But Aragorn stays with me."

"But-"

"The King wants Aragorn dead. It is not safe for him to go with you."

"Why?" Aragorn asked, shocked.

Boromir looked at Gandalf, wordlessly asking the same thing.

"I will explain later," Gandalf finalized. He sheathed his sword. "Take my horse," Gandalf added. "He is much faster than any other you will find."

"Thank you, Gandalf," Boromir said gratefully. He mounted Shadowfax, feeling rather unsteady without a saddle. He gazed down at Aragorn, his heart fluttering. You will be safe with Gandalf, he thought bitterly. He will protect you. Looking away, Boromir tapped the horse with his boots and charged up the road.

Gandalf and Aragorn looked at each other with odd expressions.

"If there is a war, he cannot hope to stop it on his own," Aragorn said, his tone hard.

Gandalf hesitated, then shrugged. "If he cannot, then Theoden will end it. Afterwards, we can explain it was a mistake."

"You would let the war go on?" Aragorn asked, anger lacing his surprise.

"The King is in a rage," Gandalf said. "I fear it would cause more harm than good to try to stifle his hatred. Let him have his fight, and-"

"I cannot believe this," Aragorn shook his head. "You're different, Gandalf," he accused. "And though I do not understand why, I am sorry for you."

He went to his horse and hopped on.

"Where are you going?" Gandalf demanded, reaching for Aragorn's reigns.

Aragorn jerked his horse away. "With Boromir," he said with resolve.

"You mustn't go over there. Like I said before, Theoden-"

"I do not care!" Aragorn snapped. He kicked his horse and ran after Broomir.

Gandalf stood there for a moment, shocked, before running desperately after him.

...

Archers on the roof, soldiers on the ground. Theoden had his Men at every position, ready to slaughter.

It felt strange for Theoden to be in his own town, standing among shops and houses that he had witnessed being built years ago, on the road where children played and chickens scratched the dirt, sword drawn and thirsty for blood.

Then over a hill rode up Faramir on his horse, his band of twenty right behind him.

You're finished, Theoden thought wickedly, raising his hand to signal the archers.

But then Faramir held up a small body, and Theoden squinted his eyes until he could see who it was. _A Hobbit! _He gasped. How did he catch a Hobbit? Which one is that? Frodo? His heart quickened dramatically. I cannot remember. If that is Frodo, then the Man must not know he has the Ring. Or maybe that isn't Frodo. Maybe it's just one of the other Hobbits. But still, he cannot get away with this. King Theoden gritted his teeth angrily.

Faramir smirked, knowing he had done a good job picking out his hostage. He pressed a knife to the unconcious Hobbit's throat.

"Give me the Ring or this Hobbit dies!" Faramir demanded.

The archers on the roof looked at Theoden, wanting to fire, wanting to kill. But Theoden hesitated. His Men were sharp-shooters, and it was very unlikely that they would hit the Hobbit, but that Captain could very easily slit the Hobbit's throat before the arrows could kill him. I cannot risk that, he thought regrettably.

"Give us the Hobbit," King Theoden replied.

"You are in no position to negotiate!" Faramir told him.

"And you are?" Theoden retorted. "Look around you. Hundreds of my Men surround this area. We could have killed you before you opened your mouth to speak. But I would rather this day end without bloodshed. Give us the Hobbit, and I may let you live yet."

Faramir looked away. He looked at his Men for guidence, but they were uncertain and anxious, for their Captain was as well.

Suddenly, Faramir had an idea. He shook the Hobbit gently until he woke up. With his eyes still fluttering, Faramir bent down and whispered in his ear.

"I took the Ring and killed your friend," he hissed.

"Frodo!" Merry struggled, his eyes flying open.

Faramir smiled. Frodo has the Ring, he realized happily. He patted the Hobbit on the head, and Merry figured out his mistake.

"Oh, great..." he muttered. He saw King Theoden a few yards away, with the army of Rohan swarming on the buildings and in alleyways and in the road. He tried to look behind Faramir to see how many Men he had, but Faramir was in the way. Then he remembered.

"Pippin!" He burst out. He looked at Theoden. "King Theoden, my Lord, have you seen Gandalf?"

Theoden glanced behind him. "I thought he was with me," he mumbled.

"Pippin is hurt real bad!" Merry cried. "He's in the castle. He needs help. Please, can you send someone to-"

Merry broke off as Faramir poked a knife into his neck. Merry suddenly felt the urge to swallow, but he was deathly afraid that if he did, the knife would pierce his throat. He held still.

"Bring out Frodo, or I will kill this one!" Faramir said loudly.

Merry's head began to swim. He was floating in the sky like a piece of parchment. Like a feather caught on a light breeze. "Don't do it!" He shouted, his voice trembling.

Faramir pricked him in the neck, and blood dripped down his shirt. Tears began rolling silently down Merry's face.

"Do you hear me, King?" Faramir snarled.

_It's too late, _Merry thought miserably. I'm too late. Pippin's going to die... I'm sorry Pippin. I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry.

"Stop this, Faramir!" Boromir called out, riding over. His stomach turned into coals and burned inside of him as he saw Merry trapped under Faramir's arm.

Merry twisted his head slightly and his heart danced with joy. _Boromir! _"Boromir!" He wiggled excitedly. "Forget me- help Pippin! He's in the castle-"

Faramir punched him in the stomach, and Merry shrieked and went silent, shivering in pain.

Boromir drew his sword and rode straight up to his brother.

"Let him go." His eyes were hard as stone. He held the sword at Faramir's throat.

Faramir hesitated. Dare I resist him? Would he really kill his own brother? Father needs the Ring. He entrusted this to _me _after Boromir failed him. Boromir was merely too weak to do what he was asked. Surely he is too weak to hurt me.

"Back down," Faramir ordered. He pressed the edge of his knife into Merry's neck. A line of blood instantly appeared.

Boromir's eyes flicked with worry. He saw the determination on Faramir's face, and he lowered his sword. "Please, brother," Boromir begged helplessly.

Faramir smiled triumphantly.

"It is not worth it," Boromir said.

Faramir's smile froze. "We will see," he said sourly.

"Just kill him," Merry said faintly. "I don't care if I die," he insisted, but the desperate trembling of his lips said otherwise. Tears ran down his pale face and down his chin, stinging the cut across his throat.

Boromir looked at Merry's sad eyes and then looked at his brother. My brother? Boromir thought. You are no brother of mine. Boromir sheathed his sword and Faramir smirked. _You are no brother of mine._ Boromir swung his fist and punched Faramir in the face.

Faramir dropped his knife, as Boromir hoped he would, and his head snapped back dramatically with blood flinging from his mouth. He reached for his own sword, but Merry head-butted Faramir and chunked himself off of the horse.

Merry landed with a painful thud, scrambling to his feet as fast as he could. He sprinted over to Theoden and hid behind him.

Faramir cursed and drew his sword, pointing it at Boromir.

Boromir responded by drawing his own and pointing it right back.

Theoden felt a rush of relief. He was not sure who this Boromir was, but he obviously knew the Hobbits, and if he was trying to defend them, then that made them friends. He placed his hand on Merry's shoulder. "What is wrong with Pippin?" He asked.

"He fell through a window and got cut," Merry said instantly. "He wouldn't stop bleeding. I _have_ to get Gandalf."

Theoden gestured for one of his Men to come over. "Take four Men with you," he told the soldier. "Find Gandalf, the White Wizard, and take him to the castle as soon as you find him. Be quick, now."

The Man bowed and hurried away, with four others following.

"Thank you," Merry said breathlessly.

Theoden nodded shortly. "Go back to the castle. Meet the Men at the door and take them straight to Pippin when they return with Gandalf."

Merry bobbed his head and ran off.

Theoden looked at Faramir and Boromir. He wondered if he should have his archers kill Faramir and the other Men before any kind of fighting could break out. But it seemed like a personal battle between the two Men, and he decided that it would be best to leave them be.

"Why do you want to ruin me so badly?" Faramir demanded in a low voice. "Every chance I have been given to prove myself to Father, you have always stepped up and swallowed it or twisted it around to make me out as a fool!"

Boromir frowned. "I have never sought to ruin you," he said. "It is not my fault Father sees me as his favorite."

"You lie!" Faramir cried. "It has _always_ been your fault!" He swung his sword at Boromir, who deftly blocked it.

"Enough, brother," Boromir said. "Go back to Gondor. Tell him you were outmatched. The Ring cannot be used in the manner he desires."

"I will _not_!" Faramir sliced at Boromir's horse, but Shadoxfax quickly hopped back, nickering.

Just then, Aragorn rode over.

"Boromir!" He called.

Boromir turned to him giddily, then a streak of terror filled him. It's not safe for him here! He realized. "Go back, Aragorn!" Boromir told him.

_Aragorn? _Theoden hissed between his teeth.

_Aragorn?_ Faramir's eyes widened. _Isildur's heir?_

Trotting over to Boromir, Aragorn halted his horse and glanced from Faramir to Theoden, then rested his eyes on Boromir. "Why are we fighting our own people?" He asked.

"Kill Aragorn! _Kill him now!"_ Theoden screamed, pointing his sword at Aragorn. The archers quickly nocked their arrows and pulled back.

"No, don't!" Boromir cried.

But the archers listened to their King, and fired their arrows.

Boromir whipped off his shield, and, holding it up protectively, dove off of Shadowfax and threw himself in front of Aragorn.


	31. Chapter 31

The arm dropped limply back to the bed.

"I'm sorry," Legolas sighed, turning to Sam.

From beside the bed, Sam began to cry.

Frodo sat in the floor a few feet away, his back to them. He remained in his trembling state, his forehead pressed against his knee.

Pippin's pale face didn't look dead to Sam, just asleep. He can't be dead, Sam thought stubbornly through his tears. He's just asleep. Mr Gandalf'll come in here and make him all better, you'll see, Legolas! But Sam's stomach curled with a cold type of pain, and he hugged himself to hold back his sobs.

Legolas wanted to slump down beside the bed and just wallow in self-pity that he couldn't save the young Hobbit, but he knew there was a war going on outside. But why? He had to go find out, but he didn't want to leave Frodo and Sam alone. He looked at Frodo, vomit puddled and drying near his feet, his face white and his dark eyes rimmed with grey, wide, yet unseeing, and he looked at Sam, who stood beside Pippin's lifeless form covering his runny eyes with dirty fists like a child. I can't leave them, Legolas thought. Not like this.

He pulled the blanket over Pippin's head, his hand lingering fondly on Pippin's hair. You deserved a better ending. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. Legolas dropped his hand and turned away from the bed. _Truely. _

...

Gimli followed the guards out of the castle but seeing how most guards of Rohan are reasonably fit Men and not fat, stupid Dwarves, he couldn't keep up with them. Soon the warning bells stopped and Gimli was just left to wander the abandoned streets alone.

A rooster ran out from behind a water trough and attacked Gimli's leg, flapping its feathers and clawing with its spurs. Gimli kicked it like a ball and it volted up into the air then flew squawking away.

Gimli walked around for a few minutes, and he came upon an inn that was also a pub. He went inside thought about asking what was going on, but he decided that the best thing to do was to act like he was someone smart and famous and hopefully get a bunch of drinks for free.

...

Aragorn opened his eyes and blinked in the sharp light. The world was silent as a graveyard. Blood- hot, wet, and stinking of iron- soaked into his clothes. He could not tell at first if it were he who was wounded or not. He became aware of a nagging pain in his legs, and he tried to sit up, but discovered he was pinned down.

"Boromir...?" He said weakly.

Indeed, Boromir was on top of him. Their bodies fit together rather snuggly, with Boromir's cheek resting against Aragorn's chest.

Aragorn's horse was on top of both of their legs, the horse so pummeled with arrows that it appeared as a comical depiction of a porcupine. Blood ran grotesquely from the horse's fur and curdled against the hot pavement.

Arrows, shattered and splintered, littered the ground all around them. Boromir's shield was off to the side, glittering brilliantly in the sun with hundreds of tiny pin-prick dents.

In response, Boromir raised his hand and placed it on Aragorn's chest.

A forcefully strong emotion rippled through Aragorn as he felt Boromir's body swell against him as he took a deep breath.

"I'm here, my Lord," Boromir said at last. "Are you alright?"

"I fear my legs are broken," Aragorn said regrettably.

Boromir sighed and twisted his body a little to see if he could get out from under the horse, but he couldn't. "This is all my fault," Boromir whimpered. His hand buckled into a fist and trembled on Aragorn's armor.

An impulse raised Aragorn's hand and rested it gently against Boromir's head. "Do not blame yourself for this," Aragorn said softly, his cheeks reddening as his body grew suddenly warm.

Boromir tried once more to wiggled out from under the horse, and in his slight struggle his knee brushed against Aragorn's crotch.

"I can't get out," Boromir said exapseratedly.

Aragorn gasped and his other hand flew up and seized onto Boromir's shoulder. Why am I so strongly aroused? He wondered.

Boromir immediately held still. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" He asked worriedly.

Aragorn shook his head, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see Boromir staring with awkward intensity at him.

"I'm sorry," Boromir said again. "I have been nothing but selfish. I drug you back here to lessen my own deserved punishment when it is _I_ who must settle my own wrong-doings. I should never have-"

Suddenly King Theoden silenced Boromir by kicking him in the mouth.

"Quiet, you," he ordered. He pointed his sword at them.

Aragorn frowned.

"Why have you done this? Why do you want me dead?" He demanded, trying to shove Boromir off of him without success. "You dare to bring war between Rohan and Gondor, to both of which I have sworn no allegiance? What is the purpose? What wrong has Gondor, or have I, done?"

"You know your crimes, and I warned you of your sentence when I banned you from this place!" Theoden snarled, flicking the sword to Aragorn's neck.

Boromir swung his fist and knocked the sword away from Aragorn, spitting hatefully: "You coward, calling yourself King! Going to kill a man on the ground, are you? You disgusting, idiotic fool! Where is your honor? Let him up and let him speak, or by the Kings there will never be one single day in your existance where Gondor is not at your back with a knife!"

"Be still, brother," Aragorn said quietly, touching Boromir's arm, though he could not help but feel a tingling wave of emotional gratitude.

Faramir was in shock. This man, Aragorn, the rightful King of Gondor, being defended by his brother, Boromir, the steward of Gondor's heir. It seemed a contradiction. Did I ever know you, brother? He wondered.

Theoden pinched his lips together. He looked at his men. "Get the horse off of them," he demanded.

The men ran over and began heaving and rolling the horse off.

As soon as he could, Boromir got off of Aragorn. He tried to stand up, but his ankle was broken and it buckled beneath his weight. He limped then fell to one knee. He winced and watched Aragorn as he too tried to stand.

Aragorn stood up straight and swayed for a moment before becoming steady. He looked over at Boromir, and his face paled. "Boromir," he said hesitantly. "You've been shot."

Boromir craned his neck and saw he had an arrow sticking out of his back, and one sticking out of the back of his thigh. Quietly, he reached around and ripped the arrow from his thigh, then with trembling fingers he grasped the one sticking from his back and wrenched it out as well. He dropped them to the ground, his fingers now slick with fresh blood. He exhaled and wouldn't meet Aragorn's eye, remaining down on one knee.

Theoden walked up to Aragorn, who stiffened boldly. Theoden pointed his sword at Aragorn's chest.

"What are your crimes?" Theoden demanded.

Aragorn shook his head. "I can think of none," he said.

Theoden's eyes sparkled with angry tears. His knuckles whitened around his sword hilt_. "What are your crimes?"_

Aragorn kept his eyes hard, but seeing the misery in Theoden's, he felt pity for the King. His face fell. "Forgive me, King Theoden," he said calmly, respectfully, "but why don't you tell me what wrongs I have committed? It has been such a long while since I was here."

"My niece..." Theoden gritted his teeth, bitting his tongue to keep from spitting and foaming at the mouth. His arm shook so his sword did also.

"Eowyn?" Aragorn glanced around curiously. He looked at Theoden. "Surely, my Lord, you know we were friendly with each other, but I never took advantage of her. Nor will I ever."

Theoden hissed like a snake between his teeth and swung his sword at Aragorn's neck, but Aragorn ducked quickly. He stepped back with wide eyes, staring at Theoden as if seeing him as a friend-turned-traitor.

"You will die on this day, Aragorn, mark my words," Theoden said quickly, marching up to Aragorn. "There will be nothing left when I get done with you. Even the maggots will go hungry on this day!"

He swung at Aragorn's neck again, and Aragorn ducked again, but only barely. Bits of his hair lept away from his head and drifted away on the light breeze.

"I don't understand!" Aragorn cried, slipping on an arrow and falling flat on his bottom. He looked up at Theoden pleadingly. "What have I done?"

Theoden raised his sword.

...

"Gandalf! Halt!"

Gandalf spun around as the guards rode over to him.

"Yes? What is it, I'm in a bit of a hurry," Gandalf told them irritably.

"You're needed at the castle. Come," a guard offered his hand to help Gandalf onto his horse.

"But I have to-"

"King's orders. Please, come," the other guard put in quickly.

Gandalf stared up the road, wondering if Aragorn was dead yet. It seemed awfully quiet.

"Gandalf."

Gandalf looked at the guard. He was still offering his hand.

"Oh, fine." Gandalf huffed and took his hand.

Moments later they were racing through the town back towards the castle.

Don't do anything stupid, Boromir, Aragorn... Gandalf thought bitterly.


	32. Chapter 32

With a shrieking clash of steel, Theoden's sword was halted.

Faramir held his sword steady and pressed back against Theoden's. Eyes dark with resolve, Faramir swallowed his unsettling emotions and took a deep breath.

"Enough of this, King Theoden."

Theoden searched Faramir's face, angry and confused. He found he was unable to speak, yet he did not lower his sword.

"You cannot kill the King of Gondor, not while so much depends on him." Faramir's stare flicked over to Boromir, who gave him a grateful smile.

"He is no king. Kings do not murder innocent girls!" Theoden yelled, shoving Faramir away.

Faramir stumbled and almost fell on top of Aragorn, but Aragorn pushed him to steady him.

Theoden readied his sword to slash open Faramir's chest, but he paused when he saw Aragorn struggling to his feet.

Aragorn stood up, his eyes moist, facing Theoden.

"I killed Eowyn?" He asked softly.

Theoden's eyes narrowed with anger, but then he noticed that Aragorn was truely distraught.

"Aye," he forced out.

"I..." Aragorn looked away, a bitter taste in his mouth. "I was lost."

Boromir stared at Aragorn, frozen on the ground.

Theoden sighed heavily, lowering his sword, then tossing it to the ground angrily.

"I don't know what to say," he said finally. "I cannot punish you for being under a dark influence, for I myself have been under such spells."

He looked over at Faramir and his men, then back at Aragorn. "Send them away and I will forgive you."

Aragorn turned to Faramir, who stood at attention.

"Return to Gondor," Aragorn said tiredly.

Boromir, trembling with pain, forced himself to stand. He limped over to Faramir as he went to his horse.

"Brother," Boromir said.

Faramir looked at him.

"I beg your forgiveness. I should have told you sooner. This could have all been prevented." Boromir hung his head shamefully.

Faramir gazed into Boromir's eyes. "I blame our father for his stubborness, and for giving it to me." He adjusted his horse's saddle and mounted up. He waved to his Men. "Come!" He called, turning his horse around.

"What of the Ring?" One of his Men asked. "Was that not our purpose for coming?"

Faramir looked at him steadily. "The Ring must be destroyed, and that is the Fellowship's job." He said bluntly. "We are not to interfere."

As the Men turned their horses into a smart line, Boromir grabbed onto Faramir's leg.

"Tell Father you were-"

"Do not worry about me," Faramir interupted. "Just keep yourself safe."

Boromir let Faramir go, and without looking back, Faramir spurred his horse and he and the Men of Gondor raced out of Rohan.

...

Merry paced the landing outside of the castle doors. He longed to run inside and see how Pippin was doing, but he didn't want to go in and miss Gandalf as he came over.

"Oh Gandalf," he moaned. "Where are you?"

He kicked at loose gravel and clawed the tangles from his hair restlessly.

"He'll be here soon," he answered himself. He looked down at his hands, stained a dark, rusty red from Pippin's blood. "Any minute now."

...

The air was still and stuffy, yet no one complained.

Legolas stood like a guard dog by Pippin's bed, while Sam laid shivering in a nearby bed and Frodo laid on the cold floor.

"The war has passed," he muttered to himself. He stared at the wall as if he could see through it, as if he were watching the enemy ride out of Rohan's gates.

He breathed in slowly through his nose. He listened to the soft shuddering weeps of Sam, and the feral-like scrabblings of Frodo twitching on the floor. He thought he could hear a bird singing somewhere outside, but he didn't want to hear such music so he tried not to listen.

...

Gimli belched rudely, bringing up a chorus of laughter from the people at the bar, but Gimli was too drunk to care. He laid his big face down on the counter and spit into his beard before passing out.

Then thieving fingers reached into his pockets and stole his coins and daggers and little axes, and ran away without a trace with no one trying to stop them.

...

Gandalf rode the horse up the steps and Merry jumped to his feet and began waving hysterically.

"Gandalf! Gandalf, help!" Merry cried.

"What it is, Merry?" Gandalf demanded, sliding off the horse and the guard pulled it to a stop.

"Pippin, he got cut on some glass. He's inside. Come on!" Merry jerked open the doors and ran inside.

Gandalf hefted up his skirts like a proper little lady and ran after him.

...

Guards and townspeople came out of hiding and dutifully began sweeping up the arrows from the streets, slowly erasing all trace of a fight.

King Theoden stood with Aragorn and Boromir, half watching the people and half watching each other.

Theoden was quiet with his thoughts, but Aragorn couldn't keep his down.

"I cannot stay in the Fellowship," he said at last.

Boromir turned to him, alarmed. "Why not?"

Aragorn sighed. "I am not strong enough to resist the Ring's influence."

Theoden looked at him cooly. "Do you believe that?"

"Yes." He looked down to hide his tears. "I turned on my friends. I became a murderer." He shook his head miserably.

Boromir put his hand on his shoulder. "But we have forgiven you," he insisted. "And you _are_ strong enough. I know you are. We can fight this together."

Aragorn looked at Boromir. Boromir's hand was shaking on his shoulder, and it made him feel guilty for some reason.

"I... I can't, Boromir. I can't risk it."

"What of me?" Boromir offered. "You know I have taken the Ring multiple times and sought to harm others, yet here I stand-"

"Your blood is not tainted with Isidur's!" Aragorn snapped. "You are better than me."

"I am not!" Boromir cried. "And your blood doesn't matter!" He slowed down and very tentatively moved his hand from Aragorn's shoulder to his chest. "It is your heart that matters," he added gently.

Aragorn couldn't swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to turn away and be repulsed by Boromir's words and touch, but he was entranced by them instead. He stared at Boromir and his heart began to quicken. Boromir could feel its beating, faintly, beneath his fingertips.

"Whatever you choose," Theoden said after clearing his throat awkwardly. "You are free to stay here until you decide. Though I believe it would be best for the rest of the Fellowship to move on without you. Time is running out; the enemy's forces are gaining on you."

Boromir dropped his hand and looked down.

Aragorn looked at Theoden. "Thank you, my Lord," he said humbly. "I will forever be in your debt for my actions and your kindness."

Theoden waved at him dismissively. "Go on, now. I will see to it that you all have horses ready before nightfall."

"Thank you." Aragorn bowed and Boromir mirrored him.

Aragorn walked off towards the castle, then saw Boromir limping after him. He remembered suddenly that Boromir had been wounded. He went to him and tucking his shoulder under Boromir's armpit, steadying him.

They headed up the road. "What is wrong with your ankle?" Aragorn asked as Boromir continued to limp horribly.

"I think the horse crushed it," Boromir answered stiffly.

"We'll look at it when we get to the castle." Aragorn nodded decisively.

"You can't leave the Fellowship," Boromir said suddenly. "We need you, Aragorn. Frodo, he looks up to you so much, and-"

"We'll discuss it later."

Suddenly it was quiet. The brooms scraping the ground echoed dully after them in their efforts to clear away the arrow bits, and Aragorn and Boromir remained silent, their thoughts so opposite, yet so the same.


	33. Chapter 33

They walked until they were out of sight of the villages and soldiers, then suddenly Aragorn jerked him down at alleyway and threw him up against a wall.

Boromir's back screeched in protest as the rough stone wall dug into his arrow wound. He gasped and bit his lip, raising frightened eyes to meet Aragorn's.

"There's something I don't understand," Aragorn said darkly, holding Boromir to the wall with the side of his arm. "Why were we outside of Rohan's gates? And was Gondor attacking Rohan? I can tell in your eyes that you had something to do with it, don't you dare lie to me."

Boromir licked his bottom lip, feeling sweat prickle on his forehead. His ankle was burning, but he could not shift his weight to his other foot. He held still, but his voice trembled when he spoke.

"I..." He gulped down a mouthful of air, and his stomach clenched. "I..." He took a shaky breath. "I was sent away from the Fellowship, so I went to Gondor. My father ordered me to return and take the Ring and when I refused, he sent my brother. I came back to stop him, and I met you on the way. I know not why you were out on your own, though you did mention going back to the North." Boromir hung his head, not meeting Aragorn's gaze.

Slowly, Aragorn lowered his arm from Boromir's chest. "Why were you sent away?" His tone had stiffened.

Tears filled Boromir's eyes, but he kept his head down so Aragorn would not see. He remembered making love to Aragorn, just a couple nights ago. So secret and tender they had been together. Until they were caught. His lips trembled with anger as he realized that Aragorn had been under the influence of the Ring, and he had not known what he was doing, nor did he remember any of it. He shook his head. "I cannot say," he answered at last.

"Tell me," Aragorn ordered, stepping threateningly close to Boromir. "Was it the Ring? Did you try to take it again?"

Boromir wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his sleeve. He sniffed once but didn't reply.

"Boromir!"

"No," Boromir said quickly. "I didn't try to take the Ring." He looked up at Aragorn with moist, gray eyes, and added: "_I don't care_ about the Ring."

Aragorn's heart skipped a beat, then another, before he realized he wasn't breathing. He sucked in air through his nostrils angrily and turned away.

Boromir clasped his hands together, picking at his fingernails as he watched him.

Aragorn sighed, shaking his head. "Why can't I remember anything?" He asked weakly. He raised his hands and stared at them in front of his face as if he didn't see them. "There is a blackness in my memory. _Why?_" He faced Boromir again.

"The Ring tampered with your mind," Boromir offered. "It is for the best that you've forgotten what you've done."

"What _have _I done?" Aragorn asked.

Boromir flinched. "Killed... Eowyn," he said uncertainly.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. They stared at each other in a dark silence until Aragorn huffed and looked away. "Perhaps Gandalf can tell me more," he said sourly. "Since you seem so keen not to answer me straightly."

"He should be at the castle," Boromir told him, remembering. "Pippin was wounded, or so I was told. I am not sure how. Gandalf was taken there to tend to him."

"Good," Aragorn said shortly. "We were headed that way anyway." He turned and walked out of the alley.

Boromir hesitated, considering whether or not to ask for help, then deciding against it. He pushed himself off the wall and limped out of the alley after him, the sudden sun seeming much too bright.

...

Merry ran into the room with Gandalf right behind him. He panted excitedly through his mouth as he raced over to Pippin's bed.

Gandalf stopped short in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Sam sat on the floor beside Frodo, their heads down and quiet.

Legolas stood up, giving Gandalf a wearily apologetic look.

Merry skidded to a halt by Pippin's bed. "Pippin!" He cried. "Pippin, wake up. I've brought Gandalf!" Merry shook his shoulder lightly, then took his hand. He gasped and recoiled. "His hand's so cold..." Blinded, Merry whirled around. "Get him another blanket!" He barked at Legolas, but Merry didn't wait. He grabbed the nearest bed and jerked the sheets off of it, hurrying back over to Pippin and covering him up lovingly. "Gandalf?" Merry looked around until he saw Gandalf still by the door. "Come _on_, Gandalf! Help him!"

Sam raised his head and looked at Merry tearfully, but he didn't know what to say.

"Merry," Legolas floated over. He carefully touched Merry on the arm.

Merry looked at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He saw the blood covering Legolas's clothes, the dried puddles of blood on the floor, the thick scent of it hanging in the air. He met Legolas's eyes, his always-stern features wrought with guilt and mourning.

"I'm sorry," Legolas said at last.

Merry shook his head. "No," he said, whirling back to Pippin. "No, Pippin." He leaned over him, his cheek hovering above Pippin's mouth, waiting to feel a breath. He began to panic. "Gandalf, Gandalf!" He turned desperately towards him. "Help me, Gandalf! He's not breathing!"

Gandalf began to walk over.

Legolas faced Merry. "He's gone, Merry," he said regrettably. "I'm sorry. I did all I could."

"Gandalf!" Merry ran over to Gandalf and took his hand, pulling him over to Pippin's bed. "Help him. Wake him up," he ordered confidently.

Gandalf closed his eyes, holding his hand out over Pippin's still form, searching for any sign of life. Seconds crawled by. Then, he sighed and lowered his hand. "I'm so sorry, Merry."

"I... I was too late," Merry whimpered, staring at Pippin's stone-like face. "If I hadn't been captured by those Men, I-"

"What Men?" Legolas asked quickly.

"You were captured?" Gandalf raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, but Boromir helped me," Merry answered gloomily. "If I had _just_ gotten away sooner-"

"Boromir is back?" Legolas asked, snapping his teeth together hatefully.

"Aragorn, too," Gandalf replied. "But it seems as though his recent memories have left him. I have yet to discuss what he still remembers, seeing how he chased after Boromir after I told-"

"Who captured Merry? Who was here?" Legolas interupted impatiently.

"Twenty of Gondor's finest," Gandalf answered spitefully. "They came for the Ring."

Frodo, staring down at the dark tile between his legs, heard Gandalf and quickly clasped the gold circle that hung around his neck. He held it in a shaking fist, angry that Gandalf had dared to even mention it.

"On whose orders? How did they know where we were?" Legolas wondered.

"Oh, _Pippin_..." Merry moaned, taking Pippin's cold, dead hand.

Legolas and Gandalf looked over at Merry, then back at each other.

"Come," Gandalf gestured. "We'll speak elsewear."

Legolas followed Gandalf out of the chamber hall.

The Hobbits were alone.

Sam stood up and patted Frodo on the shoulder before walking delicately over to Merry. Sam stood quietly beside Merry until Merry realized he was there.

"Samwise," Merry looked at Sam miserably. "I... Did... did he say anything, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "No, he... he just fell asleep. Real peaceful-like, I think." His nose started to run and he didn't notice until snot was hanging down from his chin. He wiped his face with the palm of his hand, then wiped his hands on his pants. He looked down, sniffing.

Merry blinked rapidly. "Since we joined the Fellowship, we'd talked about what our last words would be, like, if we were in a battle and got mortally wounded."

Sam looked at Merry, but Merry's gaze was somewhere far away.

Merry smiled faintly at the memory as tears ran shamelessly down his cheeks. "I wish I could've been here," he said after awhile.

Sam looked down at his feet. "I know," he said, just to be saying something.

Frodo spat in the floor, then reached down with a fingertip and popped the biggest bubble. He licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry, and tightened his grip around the Ring.

...

Aragorn strode up the castle steps. He stepped in something sticky, but didn't bother stopping to see what it was. Up the steps he went, and he hauled open the great doors, then paused as women and child filed out, the threat of war erradicated. He waited boredly, holding open the doors, until they had all went out, then he went inside.

The castle was quiet. The throne room empty. He went down various hallways until he heard voices, and he headed towards them. Gradually, he was able to pick up what they were saying.

"So they're coming back? Both of them?"

"I'm not sure yet, but-"

"After all that has happened, do you really think it is right to allow them to rejoin the Fellowship?"

"One shows remorse, and the other shows no sign of remebrance. I'm not saying that will allow them back in, but should we not at least test them first?"

Aragorn held his breath. _Gandalf and Legolas,_ he thought. He stopped walking, straining his ears in the hallway.

"They were banished! Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Aragorn was not in his right mind when he ordered Boromir away. I did not question him for I saw no reason to, but for all we know, his words could have been lies. He must-"

"Wait. I hear something."

Aragorn froze. I'm not here, keep talking, he thought hopefully.

_"Aragorn?"_

Sighing, Aragorn resumed walking. He rounded a corner and saw Legolas and Gandalf standing together. They faced him with pinched expressions, as if they were in the middle of a joke and Aragorn came in and spoiled the punch-line.

"What is going on?" Aragorn demanded.

"That depends on what you remember," Gandalf said darkly.

Aragorn hesitated, so Gandalf went on.

"Do you remember coming to Rohan?"

Closing his eyes, Aragorn struggled to remember. "No," he said at last, his tone dry. "I remember nothing. Is it true that I killed Eowyn?"

Gandalf nodded gravely. "Yes, a crime that banned you from Rohan."

"Am I also banned from the Fellowship? What else have I done?" Aragorn asked. "Boromir would not tell me."

Gandalf glanced at Legolas, who paled.

"If you do not remember," Gandalf said slowly. "Perhaps it is best-"

"Do not treat me as a child!" Aragorn snapped. "I want to know!"

"It is too shameful to speak aloud," Legolas replied evenly.

Gandalf sighed. "I believe it would be best for you to ask Boromir again. We ourselves do not know the full extent of the details."

Aragorn frowned. "Fine." He turned on his heel and marched back down the hallway.

Legolas looked at Gandalf.

"Let them speak again," Gandalf said tiredly. "And once everything is known, then we will decide what to do next."

Legolas nodded. "I hope we decide soon, _before_ the enemy reaches our doorstep."

Gandalf muttered something under his breath that even the Elf could not understand.

They stood there staring at everything except each other, until Legolas suggested they check on the Hobbits, to which Gandalf agreed. And off they went.


	34. Chapter 34

He came out of the castle doors and Boromir's breath was sucked from his lungs. He stood on the top step, unable to walk any further. He waited nervously, feigning patience, as Aragorn walked over to him.

"Tell me now," Aragorn said as he approached. "What happened between us?"

Boromir faltered. He resisted the strong urge to walk backwards down the steps. "Nothing that you need concern yourself with," he answered. "It is in the past, and seeing how you were in no control of yourself, I have forgiven you."

"That's not good enough." Aragorn took a step closer and was now inches away from Boromir's face. He glared into his eyes. "I know now why I was outside of Rohan," he said. "I killed Eowyn, and was banned from this city. But Theoden forgave me, for I was in no control over myself. I still wanted to know what I did that got me punished, so I found out. Now apparently I did something to you that no one else knows about. You say you forgive me, but I didn't ask for your forgiveness. I'm feeling ill from all of this, so I want to know what I did, and I want to know now."

A tingling rose from his toes and teased its way into his crotch. Boromir regretted to admit it, but he had grown to love this forceful assertion from Aragorn. Yet he was afraid to reveal what had transpired between them because, though it was initiated by Aragorn, Boromir could have stopped it if he had truely wanted to.

_I could lie,_ he realized suddenly. He cannot tell if it is the truth or not, for he himself has no memory of any of it. If I tell the truth, they will surely banish me from the Fellowship for good. I was too weak. Too transparent. They won't want to keep me. _But should I lie? _What should I say that the others would believe? What is so terrible that I would refuse to speak about until now? I don't know. _I don't know._ Boromir felt like crying.

"Tell me, Boromir," Aragorn said, his tone much like a sigh.

_Then again_, Boromir thought. If they figured out I was lying, they would still want to know the truth, and their trust in me would dwindle away and this would start all up again. _If I tell him, he will hate me. _He will hate himself. He would probably leave the Fellowship out of shame_._ Frodo would lose hope. They would all perish._ I cannot have that. I cannot tell._

"No." Boromir set his jaw adamantly. "I won't tell you."

Aragorn's eye twitched. "Why not?" He demanded.

Boromir merely stared at him.

Aragorn rubbed his face irritably. "You test my patience," he grumbled between his fingers. "Okay," he dropped his hands. "What is it you want? Horses? Money? Women? What will it take for you to tell me?"

Boromir looked down, feeling striken. "I will not be bribed, Aragorn," he said softly. "It is not a matter of money or possessions. It is a matter of honor."

"What have I done to your honor?" Aragorn asked, genuinely surprised.

"Tis not my honor I worry about."

Aragorn's face hardened. "Boromir," he said sternly. "Just tell me."

Boromir shook his head, eyes on the ground.

Suddenly Aragorn swung a fist and bashed Boromir in the chin. Boromir flailed and slumped to the ground, wincing because of his arrow wounds and broken ankle. He sat there and looked up at Aragorn, a line of blood running from his lips.

Aragorn drew his sword, feeling quite out of breath, and held it at Boromir's neck. His eyes flicked from Boromir's bloody lips to his eyes and back again. Aragorn could almost taste that blood on his tongue, and he swallowed.

"Will you tell me now?" He panted, his eyes as sharp as the blade in his hand.

Boromir kept his gaze steady, yet tears rolled from his eyes. He lifted his chin defiantly. "No," he answered.

Aragorn stepped even closer, the sword tip pricking the soft skin right below Boromir's Adams's apple. "Now?" He hissed out.

Boromir didn't answer. He thought it was unnecessary.

"You would die to keep such a secret?" Aragorn asked, defeated. He lowered his sword.

"Aye," Boromir replied.

"Your will is stronger than I thought," Aragorn said, turning away to sheath his sword.

Boromir bit his suddenly trembling lips and tried to hold back a fresh wave of tears. He breathed slowly through his suddenly snotty nose. He suddenly thought he was going to vomit. Then he saw something in his face, and he focused his eyes and saw a hand. He looked up and saw Aragorn's kindly face, calmly offering his hand.

Boromir took his hand and Aragorn helped him stand.

"Thank you," Boromir said gently as Aragorn supported him with his arm.

"Let's go inside," Aragorn said dismissively.

He led Boromir inside the castle and down the hallways. Torches lit the way with their hot orange waves, throwing their shadows recklessly against the walls. Aragorn marched like an ant, following the same path he had taken before. His jaw clenched together, his eyes dark. Yet he kept his arm around Boromir, supporting the majority of his weight, as they went.

"How are the Hobbits?" Boromir asked presently. "Pippin?"

"I don't know," Aragorn answered rather unhappily. "I didn't check."

Boromir said nothing for a few moments, then he added under his breath "I'm sure they're all right," as if to reassure himself.

Aragorn heard something further down the hall, and he picked up speed. Boromir struggled to keep the pace, wincing at every step as his broken ankle swung and drug against the ground.

They rounded the corner and saw Legolas standing outside of the chamber hall, looking in. He turned to them and quickly sized them up, his eyes flashing. Legolas could tell by the gritty anger on Aragorn's face that he had not yet received the answer he was looking for.

"How are they?" Borormir asked breathlessly, referring to the Hobbits.

Legolas looked back into the chamber. "Pippin has passed on," he said somberly.

_"What?"_ Boromir tried to wiggle out from under Aragorn to go see for himself, but Aragorn's grip tightened. Boromir looked at him, confused.

"You're not going anywhere," Aragorn said darkly. He reached over and shut the chamber hall doors.

Legolas frowned.

Aragorn whirled on Legolas. "What was "too shameful to speak aloud"? You must've seen something to have made such a comment. What was it?"

Legolas glanced at Boromir, who blinked and looked down.

"He would not tell you?" Legolas asked.

"No, he wouldn't," Aragorn retorted.

"Then perhaps I shouldn't-"

"You _will_ tell me what you saw," Aragorn interupted. "You don't have a choice."

Legolas tried to catch Boromir's eye, but Boromir kept staring at the ground.

"I came upon the two of you in the act of lovemaking," Legolas replied evenly. At the memory, he suddenly felt sick.

Aragorn flinched. His eyes widened and he searched Legolas's face for any trace of a lie, but he was telling the truth. He dropped his arm and shoved Boromir away from him, keeping his eyes on Legolas.

Boromir fell but caught himself against the wall. He stayed there, staring at the wall, holding himself up with trembling hands. He closed his eyes and tears ran out. He couldn't bring himself to turn and face Aragorn.

"Does _he _remember this?" Aragorn asked Legolas. His body was shaking. It was in disgrace.

Legolas glanced at Boromir. "I believe so," he answered.

Boromir pressed his nose into the wall, biting his lip.

"Go away," Aragon told Legolas. He turned to Boromir.

He stared at Boromir's back. Blotched red stains on his clothes, holes and tears from the recent attack. His clothes seemed to big, for they trembled on his body like a leaf on the branch of a tree. Light sobs erupted from his body, but Aragorn could tell he was trying to control them.

Legolas vanished back into the chamber hall, leaving Aragorn and Boromir alone.

Boromir rubbed his face into the wall, smearing it with tears and snot. He sucked in a shaky breath and wiped his mouth with his hand. He stood up straighter, one hand still on the wall, but he couldn't turn around.

Suddenly, Aragorn understood.

"There was more to it than that, wasn't there?" He asked softly.

Boromir thought he was going to vomit. His head began to swim. His eyes were burning as tears streamed out. He wiped his eyes with a dirty hand, which made them burn even more. "I'm... I'm sorry," he whimpered.

Seeing Boromir, so weak and pathetic, brought a rush of pity over Aragorn. He had the sudden desire to go over and give Boromir a hug, to comfort him, but fear held him still.

"Why?" Aragorn asked, as stiff as a statue.

Boromir turned around at last. His eyes were swollen and red, full of hot tears. His lips trembled and he blinked rapidly, his breath coming in jerks. His hand was shaking as it lifted to his forehead and pushed the hair back from his face.

"I should have refused you," Boromir said weakly.

"But I would have killed you, right?" Aragorn realized tonelessly.

Boromir looked down.

Aragorn's legs moved on their own. He went to Boromir and wrapped his arms around his back, pulling him towards him. After a second's hesitation, Boromir hugged him back, resting his chin on Aragorn's shoulder.

"It's not your fault," Aragorn said gently. "It's the Ring's. Stay with me, and together we will help Frodo destroy it."

"Aye," Boromir forced out.

Aragorn patted him and let him go. They separated and stood facing each other.

Aragorn knew he was being a bit selfish, but he was happy he didn't remember anything, especially seeing how miserable he had made Boromir.

He opened the chamber hall doors and looked at Boromir, then offered his hand. Boromir took it, and Aragorn wrapped it around him supportively and together they went inside.


	35. Chapter 35

Inside they walked, their arms around each other, supporting and being supported. Their eyes scanned the room as one.

Gandalf, crouching beside Frodo, who sat in the floor. Legolas, staring at his soiled, blood-rusted clothes from near Pippin's bed. Sam, sitting on the floor with Merry, who was weeping bitterly against Sam's shoulder.

Aragorn's eyes widened with horror.

"What has happened?" He cried, about to shove Boromir away so he could rush over, but he held himself back.

Gandalf straightened up, his eyes hard.

Legolas raised his gaze cooly.

Frodo, Sam, and Merry looked up with wide eyes.

"Aragorn!" Frodo cried, speaking for the first time in what felt like days. He scrambled to his feet and ran over to Aragorn, his legs weak and his body trembling from lack of use. He threw himself into Aragorn's chest, wrapping his arms around him desperately, forcing Aragorn to let go of Boromir.

"I knew it was a mistake," Frodo sighed. "_I knew _you didn't kill her!"

Sam stared at Frodo and Aragorn uncertainly, not wanting to ruin Frodo's happy-high, but also not wanting that no-good Strider fellow to cause any more trouble.

Boromir steadied himself by standing still, balancing his weight with his arms. He saw Pippin's body on the bed, and he took at step towards it.

"You're both... _They're both back?" _Merry asked heatedly, jerking his head to glare at Gandalf. He stood up and gave Aragorn and Boromir the most hateful look he could muster. "Why are they back, Gandalf?" Merry wanted to know. "Aragorn_ murdered _someone, and Boromir..." He scowled, remembering earlier when Boromir had saved him from Faramir, but didn't even try to find Gandalf.

"I will explain it to you later, Merry, but now-"

"Stop treating me like a child, Gandalf!" Merry snapped.

"Then stop acting like one, you little fool, and direct your questions to those from whom you want answers!" Gandalf retorted impatiently.

Merry narrowed his eyes and turned to Boromir, who was now just four feet away from him.

"What has happened?" Aragorn asked again, lifting his hand off of Frodo's head.

Frodo released Aragorn slowly, like a child not wanting to say goodbye to its parents. He looked up at Aragorn's face, but Aragorn was staring around the room for an answer.

Merry's angry eyes softened without his consent, filling with tears and overflowing a moment later. He blinked and looked down, taking a slow breath through his mouth to calm his sudden shakiness.

Boromir, watching Merry become emotional, felt warm tears fill his own eyes.

"He fell through a window," Merry whispered. "I couldn't get Gandalf back in time."

"I'm sorry," Boromir said quietly, stepping forward despite his pains and placing his hand on Merry's shoulder.

Involuntarily, Merry let out a sob of distress and instantly needed comfort. He fell against Boromir, hugging him with trembling arms.

Hugging him back, Boromir closed his eyes. He kissed the top of Merry's head. "I'm so sorry," he said.

Legolas felt a bit uncomfortable. Too much testosterone rubbing together, raising too many memories in his mind's eye. He looked around and realized someone was missing.

"Where is Gimli?" He asked suddenly.

Nobody really cared at the moment, but a missing person is still a missing person. The Fellowship looked around the room with their eyes, hardly turning their heads, and saw he was indeed not there.

"Maybe he went to relieve himself," Sam suggested. "Or find some animal to eat off of."

"He'll show up," Aragorn dismissed.

They gathered wordlessly around Pippin's bed.

"We should tell King Theoden, and have a proper funeral," Legolas said after a few quiet seconds.

Merry hesitated. "He would have wanted to be buried in the Shire, I think..."

"You know that cannot be done," Gandalf chided.

Feeling lonely as they stood staring at the dead body, Boromir reached over and found Aragorn's hand, taking it in his without realizing what he was doing. He felt Aragorn's tight, worn hand, the thickness and slight hairiness of his fingers, the grit of his uncleanliness. It was comforting and familiar. He felt warm and safe, until... It struck him what he was doing, and he quickly looked up and caught Aragorn's eye.

Aragorn looked surprised, and even a bit offended.

Boromir withdrew his hand and averted his eyes to the floor, blushing beneath his facial hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed what he had just done. His stomach wrenched with unease. Sure, holding hands isn't a bad thing, but it sure can be dangerous.

A guard walked in the room. "Gandalf," he called. "The King wishes to speak with The Fellowship." He was about to say more, but he broke off, seeing that everyone was huddled around a bed. "Did the little one pass on?" The guard asked softly.

"I'm afraid so," Gandalf said wearily.

"My apologies," the guard bowed his head. "But King Theoden needs to speak with you all right away. Two children arrived here not ten minutes ago, claiming Dunlendings had raided their village not far from here, and they are headed this way."

"Dunlendings?" Samwise asked.

"Wild Men from Dunland," Legolas replied.

"Let us hasten to him," Gandalf said quickly, swirling cloak and staff as he spun and marched after the guard.

Legolas followed Gandalf, and Frodo and Sam followed after. Merry didn't want to leave Pippin, standing as if shell-shocked by his bed.

"Come, Merry," Aragorn said in a soothing voice. "Let him rest. We will return to him shortly."

Merry looked at Aragorn miserably, then hung his head and trotted after Frodo and Sam.

Aragorn held out his arm to Boromir, who, despite still being embarassed, gratefully took it and they followed after the others.


	36. Chapter 36

Theoden turned to the Fellowship with a tight, mournful expression. His expression faltered, however, as he scanned them and counted only seven.

"Where are the others? The little Hobbit, and the Dwarf?" He asked.

"My Lord," Gandalf spoke. "The Hobbit has passed on to the next world, and the Dwarf, Gimli, seems to be missing."

Theoden's eyes fell to Merry's. "I am sorry," he said bitterly. "For your loss."

"As I am for your's," Merry answered humbly, looking at the ground.

"Indeed," the King said, staring at Aragorn. "The Ring has brought us all much grief. And even now its evil power is at work." He gestured across the room where two young children sat eating bowls of thin, brown soup. "Dunlendings are raiding the villages while Orcs are crawling across the landscape. They are laying waste to the whole countryside, leaving my people frightened in anticipation of their inevitable arrival. Rohan's forces are not strong enough to withstand their attack. I am at a loss of what to do."

Sam stared at the orphens, watching them eat hungrily. "Come on, Mr Frodo," he whispered. "Let's see if they'll fix us some." Sam grabbed onto Frodo's sleeve and pulled him away towards the table.

Merry smelled the food and though he didn't want to have an appetite, his stomach sure did. Reluctantly, he followed Sam and Frodo, feeling guilty.

"Stand your ground," Aragorn said suddenly. "Rohan's defenses_ are _strong enough. They will hold until you call for reinforcements-"

"And who is there to reinforce me? Sauruman's forces are driving away any help that could have come."

Hesitantly, Boromir stepped forward. "Perhaps Gondor-"

_"Gondor?" _Theoden grew angry, whirling on Boromir with utter loathing. "_You dare_ raise that name in my halls after such an affair? After they came to kill my people and steal the Ring away?" He shook his head. "No, no. Only when I am begging for the ruin of my city will I call Gondor to my aid."

Staring at the floor, Boromir trembled inside. As much as he hated Theoden's words, he knew them to be true, and it disgusted him to the core how easily he could have joined with his brother, and stolen the Ring... had he not been so drawn to another.

"Gandalf," Theoden straightened up. "What should I do? If I take my people away to Helms Deep, there is a chance we may be attacked. But if we stay here..." He sighed wearily. "You must leave," he said at last. "Before this battle comes. Whatever you think will help you to escape, I will do."

Gandalf and Theoden stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"If you will not call for reinforcements-"

"A waste of time," Theoden spat.

"If you will not," Gandalf went on patiently. "Then leaving would be the only option for you."

"Right," the King nodded.

"But," Gandalf said quickly. "I do not think it wise, for like you said, the Orcs are everywhere, along with the Dunlendings. They will find you if you, since you will be traveling with women and children."

"It is a risk we must take," Theoden decided. "Besides, Sauruman's forces will be scattered. Any that we run into will be mere patrols. My Men are enough to take care of them."

"But why would you take such a risk?" Gandalf pressed. "Remain here. Call for Gondor, call for-"

"Let us not argue, Gandalf," Theoden interupted boredly. "My mind has been made up. You find your... Gimby, and be off at once. Take whatever supplies you need. Horses are already waiting for you in the stables."

"My Lord," Aragorn said quietly.

Boromir's heartbeat quickened at the sound of Aragorn's deep, usually brusque voice, softened into meekness.

Theoden looked at Aragorn curiously, but alert, expecting a rebuff.

"You've been too kind to me through all of this, despite what I've done. I am most appreciative of everything, especially now. But Gandalf is right. Truely, there is no need for you to take this whole war upon your shoulders alone. You do have allies who will flock to your side. If need be, I will go to them for you and have them come to you."

Startled, Boromir flicked his eyes to Aragorn's face, but Aragorn was staring intently at Theoden. Boromir felt an unsettling pang of jealousy.

"Rohan does not need to fall. All you must do is extend your hand and ask for help, and you will receive it," Aragorn finished.

Theoden rubbed his face with his hands, then dropped his hands to his sides. "It is not that I am refusing help, Aragorn, you must know this." His voice was dejected and low. "But I will not waste what precious time we have left by waiting for a reply that I know will be "no." So I will take my people and we will flee to Helms Deep. If we are found and killed, then we will die but it will not be a waste because we will know deep down that because of our deaths, Frodo was able to escape with the Fellowship, and that he was able to make it to Mordor and destroy it!" Theoden's chest rose and fell excitedly as he was quite suddenly out of breath, his eyes wild and wet with emotion.

Aragorn bowed his head, understanding that he would be unable to persuade him.

"Go, now," Theoden said bitterly, turning away. "Please."

He looked towards the Hobbits, who were sitting with the two children, eating soup with them. "Such quiet times as these will be missed in my heart," he said sadly.

Gandalf went to Theoden and put his hand on his shoulder. "Missed, but not gone forever. These times will return, I assure you."

Theoden looked at Gandalf. "Aye," he said. "Good luck to you. All of you." He glanced from Gandalf to Legolas, then Boromir to Aragorn.

"Go," Theoden muttered, shoving Gandalf's hand away. Theoden turned sharply and walked out of the room, sighing something about announcing the death of Rohan to his people.

Gandalf went over to Frodo, Sam, and Merry. A servant girl had just ladled another helping of soup into Sam's bowl.

"Come," Gandalf said. "It is time for us to move on."

The Hobbits looked up.

Dutifully, Frodo got to his feet. Sam scrambled up after him. Merry laid his hand on the little girl's.

"Don't worry," he said. "Everything will turn out alright."

The little girl's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled.

Feeling rather intrusive, Gandalf watched their exchange quietly.

Merry stood up. He forced a smile back, then turned and followed Gandalf, who pretended he had not been watching, and the other Hobbits to where Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir were waiting.

...

Within the hour, Gimli had been found.

It was made known to the Fellowship via angry drunkards that Gimli had become extremely drunk and proceeded to howl what he called an "ol' Dwarven shanty." When he refused to stop, the men began throwing punches and Gimli began throwing tables and chairs, which eventually ended with Gimli being thrown out of the bar, where he passed out in a patch of brittle grass where horses usually urinated.

Gimli was awoken with a quick douse of water and a smack on the cheek by Gandalf. He was then crudely strapped to the saddle of a horse on which Legolas also mounted to keep the drunken sod from falling off.

Supplies were packed and placed into saddlebags, and water flasks were filled to the brim. Weapons were hastily sharpened and slid back into their holsters.

Frodo sat behind Aragorn on a horse, Sam behind Gandalf, Merry behind Boromir, and Legolas behind Gimli, in order to keep him more secure.

Soon everyone was ready, and Rohan's gates were opened just for them.

Out they rode into the late afternoon sky, pounding the earth into dust behind them in thin, brown clouds.

Merry felt torn. He longed to stay in Rohan, to see Pippin buried, or even to take him back to the Shire. But he knew it could not be done. Rohan was being abandoned, and Pippin would be lucky if he were thrown in an unmarked tomb. He wrapped his arms around Boromir's waist, and, turning his face away from Rohan, pressed his cheek into Boromir's hard, leather-like back.

"What's going to happen to them?" Sam asked Gandalf, feeling braver to ask his questions, now that he felt like he was alone.

Gandalf didn't want to think about it. Though he knew Theoden would march his people straight into the jaws of Sauruman's beasts. He pretended he could not hear Sam over the rushing wind in their ears.

"What?" He said too loudly.

Sam was caught off guard, and he tightened his grip on Gandalf's cloaks. "Nothing," he called back.

The wind seemed to be striking Boromir in the most particular place, causing his eyes to water uncontrollably. Though no one else noticed, he was still ashamed. _These cannot be tears, _he thought angrily. Curse the wind and the dirt it flings.

When Merry curled his arms around him even more, Boromir indeed felt a deep saddness rising in his throat, that of which he did not wish to explain, not even to himself.

Legolas was having a bit of difficulty reigning the horse, seeing how he had to reach around Gimli as he rode, but it did not appear so. His movements were lucid and full of grace, making him and bobbling, grumbling Gimli quite an odd and amusing sight to behold.

Gimli had no real thoughts in his aching head apart from wondering how many drinks he had consumed, and whether or not he had given away his favorite throwing axe, or if someone had stolen it from him.

Aragorn was full of remorse. He wished he could have persuaded Theoden to stay in Rohan, to defend his city. But... he had made himself an outcast, a gulible Man easily thwarted by the whispers of the Ring. What did his word count for, anymore? He turned his head and spat off the side of the horse.

Frodo closed his eyes and hugged onto Aragorn. He was glad Aragorn was back. It didn't matter what the others said, how he killed Eowyn or somehow tricked Boromir. He was here now, and they were going to Mordor together. That was all that mattered.

The afternoon quickly fell away with the sun, turning into dusk and gradually dotting out the stars. With the dusk came a chill in the air, so the Fellowship paused in their riding to pull out jackets and blankets to bundle themselves. Then onwards they rode, cutting a path through the growing darkness, casting shadows behind them in the light of the rising silver moon.


	37. Chapter 37

A hand seized his shoulder, then the other, pinning him down. A stranger's face loomed before him, then drew close and became illuminated by the light of the moon.

"Aragorn!" Boromir was startled. "What are you-?"

"Shhh," Aragorn hissed, pressing the palm of his hand against Boromir's mouth.

His nostrils were also covered by Aragorn's thumb, and Boromir hesitated, then struggled, turning his face away. He gasped for a moment, his breath seeming unable to enter his lungs.

Suddenly, Aragorn's lips were brushing against Boromir's ear as he whispered: "I remember everything. How could I possibly forget? I own you. You are mine." With that, he tore away Boromir's clothes easily as brushing a dead leaf off a flat stone.

Boromir looked up into Aragorn's face, but could see nothing but a black shadow with a white-crescent grin. What should I do? He wondered. Alert the others? But where are they?

"Don't even think about it," Aragorn snarled. "I see your mind. You intend to leave me. But you will not. You cannot. You are mine. Say it!" He struck Boromir on the cheek.

Boromir opened his mouth and tried to say "I am yours," but his words would not be spoken. He tried again, but in vain. He could not speak. Then, miserably, he said "I cannot."

"You little maggot!" Aragorn spat, pulling out his penis. It was then Boromir realized that Aragorn was also naked. "You think you can deny me? I am your King!" In Aragorn's hand, his penis grew and grew, until it became grostesque and massive, like a horse's. He waved it in Boromir's face. "You will take the gifts I offer, then you will beg for more!"

Then Boromir appeared on his stomach and Aragorn mounted him. Boromir stared with wide eyes into the blackness surrounding him. He could feel Aragorn shifting his weight on top of him, one hand pushing into Boromir's back to keep himself steady. Vaguely, he wondered where the others were. So far away they must be for none of them to witness this.

Then Aragorn entered him, shoving in forcefully and raising a shout of anguish from Boromir's lips. Aragorn began to pound himself into Boromir with such feriousity and speed that it began to tear apart Boromir's skin.

"You are mine!" Aragorn screamed. "Tell me you are mine!"

Boromir lowered his face and pressed his mouth to the dirt, panting through his nostrils. He closed his eyes, but they would not close. He could still see Aragorn as though watching from a distance, riding him like an angry beast.

As his anus began to split upwards, Boromir wept. Blood spurted out as Aragorn climaxed inside of him. Suddenly Aragorn reached down and seized onto the tearing flesh and pulled it apart even further, and Boromir's skin flew apart with a sickening rip as if Aragorn were merely pulling apart a thin bit of fabric. Blood poured out and soaked both of them with its hot, sticky gore. Enraged, Aragorn pulled and ripped away Boromir's skin, exposing the soft muscles and veins and bone and flinging away the skin like a vulture.

"You belong to me!" Aragorn cried, grabbing Boromir's head and twisting it around so they could look into each other's eyes. "Every single bit of you!" Then Aragorn stabbed his fingers into Boromir's chest, and gouged out his still-beating heart.

Boromir extended a shaking hand upwards, reaching for his heart, but Aragorn put it to his lips and, with a devilish smile, sank his teeth into it.

Boromir jolted upright with a gasp. He clasped his hand to his chest and felt that his heart was still there, thudding desperately from his nightmare.

He looked around. The moon was low, and the stars were dim. Dawn would soon be approaching. A few feet to his right, Gimli snored softly. Beyond Gimli lay the Hobbits in a neat little line, with Legolas at the end of it. Across from them were Gandalf and Aragorn, all of them asleep. Further off, could see the horses tied to a stump, black outlines in the soft light.

Boromir took a deep breath. His nerves were shaking. He was restless. He felt as though he needed to chop something's head off. As quietly as possible, he got up from his pile of blankets. He stood for a moment, gazing around the make-shift camp.

"I cannot stay here," he muttered when he caught himself staring at Aragorn's sleeping form.

He crept over to the horses, shushing them gently as they awoke by his presence. He untied one and started walking it away, tugging on the reigns as the horse wanted to eat the grass.

_Father will hate me_, Boromir thought bitterly. As will Faramir. I will not be welcomed back... There is nothing left for me. But where else can I go? I cannot stay here, that much I know. Perhaps Theoden will let me join his army in Rohan, or at least help him in case they are attacked... If they haven't been already. I suppose I _have _to go back to Gondor. They need to know about the upcoming war. I must tell them.

He sighed wearily and glanced behind him at the camp. He was too far off to tell if anyone had moved, but it seemed as though all was as it had been before he awoke. He patted the horse on the muzzle, deciding it was time to mount up.

He stuck one foot into the stirrup and slung himself over effortlessly.

"Where are you going?"

Boromir flinched and looked around.

Aragorn was standing in front of the horse.

"Back to Gondor," Boromir said, lifting his chin. "I am nothing but a hindrance here. No one will ever look upon me as anything but a disgrace. Besides, if there is a war coming, then my father needs to know about it."

"But you're needed here," Aragorn said sternly.

"I have brought this Fellowship nothing but death and hatred!" Boromir retorted. "I am not needed. _I never was needed._ It was my choice to join the Fellowship, and it will be my choice to go."

"But it wasn't your choice to join," Aragorn reminded him. "It was your father's."

"It was _my _choice," Boromir said, thought not very convincingly. "I could have said no."

Aragorn reached out and placed his hand on Boromir's ankle, the one he had broke.

Boromir held still, uncertain if Aragorn knew or not how easily he could hurt him.

"I never got the chance to look at that," Aragorn said quietly.

"There are many healers in Gondor who can do more than just _look_," Boromir scoffed.

Aragorn ran this thumb gently around the edge of Boromir's boot, wordlessly.

He was afraid of speaking to Aragorn this way, for he loved him more than he had ever loved anything, and he didn't want Aragorn to dislike him, but he knew that this would be the best way to drive Aragorn away. Hatred.

Look what you've done to me, Boromir thought. Reducing me to this. I hate you. _I hate you..._

"Release me. I must be off before dawn, before the Orcs arise from their dens." He looked away, towards the distance, as if he could see all the way to Gondor. But in reality, all he could see was the graying sky and the fading stars, the earth still blanketed in blackness.

"They will kill you before you reach Gondor," Aragorn said tonelessly.

"There are many safe routes I can take," Boromir answered.

"You will be shunned by your own people."

"Perhaps."

"You will be put on the front lines to die."

"I am not afraid of death."

"Why do you wish to leave so badly?" Aragorn asked suddenly, irritated by these games.

Boromir hesitated, then kicked away Aragorn's hand, biting back a scream of pain as his broken ankle bones twisted beneath his skin.

"I've told you already," he said shortly. "Now, I must go."

Boromir turned his horse away so as not to trample Aragorn, but Aragorn snatched the reigns and held the horse still.

"Arago-"

"You told me you'd stay."

Boromir looked at Aragorn, stunned by the distress in his voice. Aragorn's eyes were wide and black with the night, and full of glittering stars.

"But I cannot," Boromir replied helplessly.

"You told me," Aragorn repeated, his hand trembling on the horse's reigns. "You would stay."

They stared at each other for nearly a whole minute, no sounds but crickets and frogs, the huffing breathing of the horse and the low snores of the sleepers. As Boromir opened his mouth to speak, Aragorn released the reigns suddenly and turned away, walking back to the camp.

Boromir wanted to call out to him, but he held his tongue. He watched Aragorn, his reckless, determined stride, the long swinging of his arms and the thud of his feet against the ground. Aragorn went to his pile of blankets and stared at it for half a second before turning right around and marching back over to Boromir.

"Get off the horse," Aragorn ordered before he had even reached him.

Boromir felt the sudden desire to throw himself off the horse and into Aragorn's arms, to weep and hug him and tell him how he truely felt. But he lifted the reigns.

"I shall not," he told him. "For I must-"

"Get off the horse, now, Boromir, son of Denethor," Aragorn pointed at the ground as if telling a child. "I order you to, as the rightful King of Gondor."

"My father is acting King of Gondor until the true heir comes to claim it, so no."

"Get down or I will break your other ankle!" Aragorn snapped.

Boromir shook his ankle out of the stirrup and held his leg out to him. "Do as you say," Boromir said darkly.

Aragorn frowned and hissed "Curse you!"

He grabbed Boromir's leg and reached up and grabbed his shirt-sleeve, pulling him off the horse. The horse whinnied and backed away as Boromir and Aragorn hit the dirt.

Aragorn held Boromir still, his hands on his shoulders. A flicker of fear passed over Boromir as he recalled his nightmare.

"Let me go," Boromir begged, struggling to get away.

Aragorn released him instantly, sensing his fear. "What is it?" He asked, looking around.

Boromir sat up, breathing heavily. He hugged himself, feeling cold as he envisioned his skin being split away from his skeleton.

"Please," Boromir said after a moment. "_Please_, just let me go." He hung his head defeatedly.

Aragorn straightened up, then tilted his head to see Boromir's face.

"What is the matter?" Aragorn asked softly. He hesitated, then carefully brushed a dead leaf from Boromir's hair.

Boromir's lip began to tremble. "It is wrong, is it not?" He asked in a small, weak voice.

Aragorn was confused. "Is what wrong?"

"To love another man," Boromir finished, his voice barely audible.

Aragorn glanced around, suddenly afraid someone might be listening in. But the others were still alseep. His lungs were tight in his chest, and Boromir's question rose a thousand more in his heart.

"Who's to say?" Aragorn answered, trying to sound casually, despite a dirty, sick feeling in his stomach.

"You must understand, I cannot stay here. No one knows of my feelings, and I would have preferred for even you not to know, for I know you have an Elf woman that you love. And it is not my place to..." Boromir shook his head, struggling to find the proper wording. "It is not right of me to stay and cause hurt feelings. I do not wish to hurt anyone, especially not you... Please, let me go back to Gondor. Tell the others I went to urge my father to help Theoden. Please just let me go." At last, Boromir lifted his eyes and met Aragorn's.

Boromir's heart dropped when he saw Aragorn's eyes were over-flowing with tears as much as his were.

Aragorn reached out and took Boromir's hand.

"Please," Aragorn said softly. "Stay with me."


	38. Chapter 38

He winced but did not pull away, keeping his leg still. Aragorn noticed, but didn't apologize.

He squeezed Boromir's ankle again, in a different place where it was not as swollen. With his thumb, he felt a few things that seemed to be not quite right. He moved his hand along Boromir's foot, rubbing it gently, massaging it.

Boromir said nothing through all of this, though he felt an overwhelming pull of gratitude. Aragorn, though he was hurting him, was trying to help him, to heal him, expecting nothing in return. And Boromir was amazed with his patience, and his softness. The intensity in Aragorn's dark eyes... It stirred something deep within Boromir's heart, and his face burned with uncertainty as his stirrings made him want to cry. When he could take no more, he lifted his head and stared up at the dark sky.

"I must find something to brace it with," Aragorn muttered after a few minutes. He stood and walked away, fading off into a shadow.

Boromir, though alone and practically handicapped, was not afraid. He smiled to himself for he knew that Aragorn would be back, again and again and again.

...

The morning sun rose, shooting its golden rays across the valley and decorating the clouds with purple and red hues.

Gradually, the Fellowship awoke.

Legolas was awake first, and he went around gathering odd items and packing them up, like extra blankets and bits of cutlery. He had woke some time during the early dawn, having heard voices in the night. He heard Aragorn and Boromir speaking, and could tell they were not in agreement about something, but he kept his eyes shut and forced himself not to listen: He knew it was none of his business. This morning, however, Legolas wished he _had _listened in, for he was very curious indeed. But he knew better than to ask.

Sam woke up when Gimli coughed, waking himself up also. Samwise scurried over to Frodo's little body and shook him gently, whispering his name until he opened his gray-ringed eyes.

When Merry was torn away from his dreaming, out of habit he threw out his arm and smacked the ground, expecting to feel another Hobbit under a pile of blankets. But his palm hit the uneven dirt. Merry sat up quickly and stared at his hand, as if he didn't know why it had done that. Then his heart sank down into his icy stomach, and he hugged his blanket up against his chin, his arms shaking. _Pippin,_ he thought miserably. He squeezed shut his eyes.

Gandalf rose from his blanket mess like a zombie from its grave. He stared around at the Fellowship with a grim expression. _Why _did Theoden not ask me to stay with him? Gandalf wondered. _All he needed to do was ask... _They have made it this far without most of me. They do not need me as much as they think. Theoden, however... I fear his life is in great peril. He sighed, wishing that he could for once wake up thinking about how lovely the morning was, instead of worrying more silver hairs onto his thick, pale skull. He lifted his staff from the grass and straightened up.

Opening his eyes, squinting instantly against the bright new day, Boromir sat up from his bed-pile. He gazed over to where Aragorn laid, still asleep despite all the sudden ruckus coming from the others as they gathered their things. He smiled the way a mother smiles at her sleeping infant. _Yes,_ Boromir thought. _Until the end, I will stay with you forever._

"Boromir," Gandalf called suddenly.

Startled, Aragorn jerked awake, flailing his arms and kicking off his blankets. He sat up, blinking quickly, his heart racing. He then saw that everything was fine, and he exhaled and ducked his head, feeling more tired than before.

Boromir pretended he hadn't watched Aragorn's little scene, getting up and dutifully walking over to Gandalf. Cheerfully, even, for his new brace absorbed most of the shock.

"Yes?" Boromir asked, glancing behind him as Frodo and Sam huddled over Merry as if sharing a secret.

Gandalf's eyes flashed down at Boromir's ankle-brace, then back to his face. "Is your foot alright?"

"It will be, in time," Boromir replied.

"Well, good, then. I wanted to ask you, what do you know of the Dead Marshes?" Gandalf stared at Boromir judgingly.

Boromir stiffened. "The Marshes was where the Ring was cut from the Enemy's hand."

"Yes," Gandalf said, a bit impatiently. "But do you think you could pass through it?"

"I have traveled through marshlands before," Boromir answered after a slight pause. "I know which routes are safe and which are to be avoided."

Gandalf started to nod, but Boromir added, "Why? Do you not believe there is a way through?"

"There is always a way," Gandalf said slowly. "I just may not be the one to show it to you."

"Do not speak in circles to me, Gandalf," Boromir said thinly. "What is it you mean to say?"

Gandalf pursed his lips. "I may turn back and join up with King Theoden," he said at last.

"He did not wish for anyone to stay with him," Boromir said, his tone turning his words into a question.

"I do not believe he was in his proper mind," Gandalf said, frowning. "He is a proud Man, and he does not want to need help, but that does not mean he does not need it." He shook his head lightly. "I am uncertain as to where my path is leading me. Do you believe I should stay here?" Gandalf asked wistfully, more to himself.

"You surely will not leave on my opinion alone?" Boromir asked, fearful he had said the wrong thing.

"Of course not," Gandalf scoffed. "I merely needed to see if you knew of the Dead Marshes."

"Oh," Boromir said, his voice small. "Who should I send to you now whose opinion you may value?"

Gandalf gave Boromir a withering look. "Do not behave in such a manner, son of Denethor," he reproved.

Boromir looked away disdainfully, and Gandalf walked off.

As soon as Gandalf had his back to him, Boromir watched him to see to whom he'd go next. He went to Aragorn, and Boromir wasn't surprised. He wondered if Gandalf would say the same thing to him, and he wondered if Aragorn would answer as he had.

Aragorn felt eyes on him and glanced up at Boromir.

Boromir stared at Aragorn, unable to look away, lost in thought.

If Gandalf does leave, Boromir thought, his heart quickening. Then perhaps Aragorn and I... Boromir smacked his hand to his face. Stop this, he ordered himself. Stop. _Just stop._

Aragorn saw Boromir smack himself, and he twitched a smile, in spite of Gandalf trying to have a serious conversation and keep the attention on himself.

Boromir caught Aragorn's amused expression and blushed. He turned away and went over to gather his things, to look like he was busy.

If Gandalf were to leave, Boromir thought levelly. Then the Halflings would lose faith. We would get lost, captured by Orcs, and slaughtered... The Ring... Oh, but he _cannot _leave. Boromir, biting his lip, looked up at Aragorn and Gandalf to see how the conversation was going, but Gandalf was already walking over to Legolas. Boromir's eyes darted around as he tried to find Aragorn, but he was gone.

Horrified, he jumped to his feet. Did _Aragorn _leave? _Why? _What did they say? Where did he go? He looked over at the horses and counted them twice. They were all there. Boromir's shoulders slumped. _Where is he? _

"How's your ankle?"

Boromir turned around, the sudden movement making his ankle scream with pain. He gritted his teeth and smiled. "Much better, thanks to you."

"Good." Aragorn smiled back.

"What did," Boromir hesitated, not wanting to be rude, but discovering he didn't care all that much. "What did Gandalf say?"

Aragorn's face fell. "Did he not tell you?" He asked in a low voice.

"Of course he did," Boromir said more confidently than he felt.

Aragorn took a step closer.

"We cannot let him know which one of us has it," Aragorn said steadily. "And we mustn't tell the Hobbits. They would only become frightened."

Boromir's eyes widened as he struggled to understand.

"Gandalf said he should not come near us as long as we're in a group, but if he does it will only be to take the Ring."

Boromir had to ask.

"Who?"

"The gollum," Aragorn whispered harshly.

Boromir blinked. "Should... Should we kill it?" He asked.

"He cannot do us much harm," Aragorn said, his voice sinking to a pitying tone. "But he may attract attention if he gets startled. It may be the only option." He nodded once.

"I see," Boromir rubbed his chin. "Will Gandalf be staying with us, then?"

"It is my desire for him to stay, but... He has other plans."

"But what of the little ones?" Boromir burst out. "They love him. They need him around. He is their protection, more than I, or any of us, could ever be."

Aragorn put his hand on Boromir's shoulder, smiling sadly. "Do not fret, my friend," he said softly. "Gandalf has left us before, and, like before, he will return if we truely need him."

Boromir tried to hold Aragorn's gaze, but he looked at the ground. He quickly raised his head as Sam appeared out of nowhere and poked Aragorn in the arm.

Aragorn looked down at him, dropping his hand from Boromir's shoulder.

"Yes, Sam?"

Sam held out a piece of lembas bread, looking rather sullen that it was also to be his breakfast.

Aragorn took it, thanking him.

Sam grumbled something about drinking plenty of water and handed a piece to Boromir.

"Thank you, Sam," Boromir said.

Samwise gave a half smile and trotted over to Gimli, who yelled his refusal, saying he'd never eaten a bite of Elf food a day in his life and he wasn't about to start now.

"Be quiet, you blubbering giant!" Gandalf snapped at him, stomping over from his little chat with Legolas. "Do you want to alert _every_ Orc in Middle Earth?"

...

As they came to the edge of the Marshes a few hours later, the ground softened under foot. The grass, though appearing as if it made the ground solid, was a trap. The horses with their great hooves and long legs sloughed through the earth, kicking it up and tossing it wetly aside as they marched, whinnying their disapproval. The Hobbits clung to their drivers desperately, afraid of falling off and drowning in the thick, stinking waste.

"It is not so deep," Gandalf tried to tell them, but they were still wary.

"The horses are tiring out so quickly. We must send them away," Legolas said at last. "Before they fall and we lose all our supplies."

Everyone agreed.

They came to a patch of ground that was stable and dismounted.

"Leave whatever you can here," Aragorn said as he pulled the saddle from his horse. "Carry only what you must."

"Throw any weapons you do not need into the mud," Boromir added. "So they will not be used against us."

Aragorn caught Boromir's eye and nodded his approval.

Boromir looked away so Aragorn would not see him smile.

"How will we make it across without horses?" Sam asked, thinking of how unsteady Frodo had become even on solid ground.

"There are paths," Boromir said matter-of-factly. "We simply have to find them."

Spare blankets and pots and pans littered the ground, along with random piles of junk, such as cracked whet-stones and moldy fruit.

Gimli pulled an axe from no-one-saw-where and tossed it into a nearby glob of mud, into which it sank without much resistance.

Soon everyone was stripped of all their extras, so they all turned to Gandalf.

Standing by his horse, Gandalf rubbed Shadowfax fondly, not paying much attention.

"Gandalf," Legolas said.

Gandalf looked up. He didn't much care for everyone to be watching him. "Yes? Oh, right. Well, I suppose I ought to be going, then."

"Going where?" Sam cried.

Boromir glanced from Sam to Gandalf.

Frodo stared at Gandalf expectantly.

"You're leaving, too?" Merry asked quietly.

Gandalf sighed, then forced on a smile. "Someone has to lead the horses back out of this muck," he said lightly.

_"Gandalf,"_ Aragorn sighed.

Gandalf suddenly looked tired. "I have to see if there is anything I can do to help King Theoden," he told them. "I will find you as soon as I can, I promise."

He tried to catch Frodo's eye, but Frodo deliberately turned his face away.

When no one spoke, Gandalf mounted his horse.

"Be careful, Gandalf," Gimli coughed out.

"Take care," Legolas said smoothly.

"I would join you," Aragorn said. "If I could."

"Do not worry," Gandalf said. "I will do all I can to see that Rohan does not fall." He glanced off in the distance at the Dead Marshes, then back at Aragorn. "You will be fine, just... Don't follow the lights," he said tensely.

Boromir had nothing to say. He watched quietly as Gandalf turned his horse and trotted back out of the mud, the other horses following as if on an invisible leash.

The remaining seven members of the Fellowship turned around once Gandalf was out of sight, staring, fighting back the feeling of hopelessness, as miles and miles of dark, deadly swamp lay head of them.


	39. Chapter 39

Black rocks split open the earth and rose up out of the muck. Sharp edges hidden like daggers under paper-thin layers of wet dirt. The Fellowship travelled carefully, lest they be gouged open upon the stone.

The air reeked with the stench of rot and mold, and no matter how high they held their noses, there was no cleansing breeze passing overhead.

Stifling, it was, and Legolas began to feel quite sick.

"How much further?" Sam asked wearily, standing up after having just slipped on a patch of wet gravel.

Aragorn didn't answer, but extended his arm to Sam. Sam grasped onto Aragorn, and Aragorn slung him up and held him piggy-back style. He wrapped his arms around Aragorn gratefully.

"Miles," Gimli grumbled. "Miles and days, but before we can make it out we'll be caught by Orcs."

Boromir looked around. Indeed, it would be quite a few days before they reached the other side of the swamps, but at least they seemed to be alone. But then he remembered that the golem creature was still pursuing them, and he felt troubled. He looked up at the sky, but it was greyed out with thick, ugly clouds.

Frodo walked shakily. He was nervous about the Dead Marshes, having heard of their treachery. The Ring around his neck pulled downwards, and he let it pull him so that he walked like a man in much pain. But his pain was not so much physical. He closed his fist over the Ring so it would not beat into his chest at each step. I fear my life is ending, he thought bitterly. But if I die, then what will become of the Ring? Can any of _them _carry it safely? He sighed and hung his head even lower.

"We will make it," Merry snapped at Gimli. "And don't speak otherwise."

Gimli looked over at Merry, but Merry had already looked away. Gimli adjusted his bag on his shoulders and grunted, slowing down so that everyone went passed him.

Suddenly Frodo misstepped and kicked into a glob of mud, which was concealing a long-lost helmet. With a startled cry, he fell forward.

Sam, who was behind Frodo on Aragorn, cried out "Frodo!"

Boromir whirled around and caught him, kneeling down before him as Frodo's legs remained limp.

The Ring hung out of Frodo's shirt, gleaming gold on a dirty silver chain, but Boromir didn't notice. He tilted his head to look into Frodo's eyes, to see if he was alright.

Slowly Frodo raised his head to see who was holding him, and a wall of iron rose up in front of his eyes. He frowned and pushed away from Boromir, standing up.

Boromir watched Frodo walk away, his nerves twitching. He placed his hand on the cold, filty ground and dug his fingers into the earth.

As he went by, Aragorn placed his hand on Boromir's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Boromir hesitated before looking up, but it didn't matter because Aragorn was looking determinedly ahead.

Sam wriggled in Aragorn's arms until Aragorn let him go. He ran over to Frodo and skidded to a halt at his heels.

"Are you alright, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked.

Frodo didn't answer. He had grown weary of such pointless questions.

Pressure building, blood rushing, thumping behind his eyes, a twitching, unreasonable pain. Legolas could hardly walk straight. He stopped to lean against a boulder, closing his eyes as if the dirty, gray light was too bright for him. He breathed through his mouth, but the smell was still there. He took off his pack and began digging for some kind of remedy, but he had none that would combat how he felt.

"Legolas?" Aragorn went to him.

Legolas shook his head. "It's the air," he said. "It is full of poison."

The Hobbits looked at each other anxiously.

"Hold a bit of cloth over your mouth," Aragorn offered.

Legolas knew that would not help him, but he did as Aragorn said if only to make him feel like he had helped.

"How is that?" Aragorn stared at Legolas as he tied a green strip of cloth over his mouth and nose, knotting it behind his head.

Legolas nodded shortly.

"How do _you_ feel, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked.

Frodo closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.

...

That evening was marked not by the slow, lovely descent of the sun, but the sudden drop in visability. They took shelter under the crag of a small cliff. It was cold and damp, and the temperature dropped steadily as dusk turned to night.

They huddled together and lit a small fire, assuming the fog would swallow up the smoke. Out of their packs came sausages and bread, and they warmed it all on one of Sam's frying pans. They ate and began to feel a bit more hopeful with warm food going down into their stomachs.

Legolas didn't eat, however. His headache had transformed into nausea and just seeing the others eat made him feel like he was about to vomit.

Aragorn went to him. "Why don't you try to rest?" He said lightly. "I will keep first watch."

"You will wake me for mine?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn nodded.

Legolas immediately went to the wall of the cliff and spread out his blankets. Soon he was nuzzled up in a little nest and he drifted off into sleep.

Aragorn sat back down at the fire between Gimli and Merry.

Gimli greedily crammed meat into his mouth and choked it down with great gulps from his flask.

Merry picked at a piece of bread, held the crumbs, then licked them off his hand.

Sam was eating his portion steadily, yet he kept pausing to make sure Frodo was eating his own.

"Want some more?" He kept saying, and Frodo would shake his head.

Boromir chewed on a piece of sausage, staring down at the crackling, burning sticks. He wondered if Gandalf had made it to Rohan, or if he had found Theoden yet. He wondered if Faramir was back in Gondor, telling their father what his beloved firstborn had done. He wondered how harshly the rest of the Fellowship was judging him right now. Little did he know, no one cared about him enough to develop a solid judgement.

No one, save one.

Aragorn ate but was not paying attention to what he was eating. Nothing seemed to have any real flavor, so it did not particularly matter what it was. He kept his head turned a bit to the right so he could stare at Boromir without everyone knowing he was staring.

Boromir kept his eyes down. He felt that he was being watched, but he just attributed that feeling to the fact that he was being judged.

Almost an hour later, Aragorn said he would take the first watch, so everyone went to sleep.

Aragorn sat at the fire as it died, waiting patiently for their breathing to slow, and their soft snoring to begin.

He stood as soon as he was sure and went to Boromir, who was half-sitting with his back against the stone wall.

Aragorn knelt in front of him, gazing into his face. He was deeply alseep, his lips parted slightly, his eyes rolling gently behind his eyelids.

Aragorn stared for a long moment, until his legs began to ache and distracted him. He leaned over Boromir, propping one hand up against the wall to keep him from falling on top of him, and breathlessly held his face inches from Boromir's.

He licked his lips, tasting Boromir's warm breath. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and leaned even closer, their scruffy beards brushing into each other. _What am I doing?_ He thought. But he realized he didn't care. His heart beating like mad, Aragorn turned his face to the side and kissed Boromir on the lips.

Boromir's eyes flew open. His instincts told him to throw Aragorn off of him, but this was _Aragorn. _Their eyes met, and Boromir wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck and pulled him down on top of him.

Aragorn closed his eyes tightly, mashing his lips into Boromir's, rubbing their chins together. Panting through their mouths and hissing air through their nostrils, theirs was a passionate moment.

Aragorn pushed himself hard down onto Boromir, shoving their groins together and pressing their heaving chests into one.

Boromir's eyes began to roll with pleasure. He tilted his head and began suckling lightly at the soft skin around Aragorn's neck. It tickled, so Aragorn dug his fingers into Boromir's hair and jerked his head down. Unresisting, Boromir held still until Aragorn released his hair, then he cupped his hand around Aragorn's cheek, smiling with sad eyes. Aragorn wouldn't meet his eye. His hands dropped down to Boromir's pants where he began tearing at his belt.

Suddenly Aragorn rolled off of him and smacked down onto the cold rock floor. He scrambled up to his hands and knees, trembling with wide eyes.

Boromir sat up, striken, breathing heavily but trying not to. He stared at Aragorn curiously, wondering why he'd stopped, then his stomach dropped with the coldness of shame. It had to be his fault. It was always his fault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking down.

Aragorn shook his head. "Don't... Don't be," he forced out. He stood up, still trembling. "It's not you, I..." His skin burned with desire beneath his armor, longing to be nude and vulnerable. "I can't do this," he said bluntly.

Boromir did not need an explanation.

Aragorn went to his blankets and laid down.

Boromir wordlessly got up and took his place as look-out.


	40. Chapter 40

In a curling, swirling wave of blackness, Aragorn's dream morphed into a nightmare.

Arwen, his love, his life, moments ago had been laying on a bed of the purest white feathers. But now, his arm raised above his head, he held the shards of Narsil, the broken blade, dripping red with her ripe blood.

Her eyes rolled backwards and froze as white, empty sockets. Her mouth, too, was frozen in a never-ending, silent scream. Aragorn plunged down the sword again into her chest, grinning from ear to ear. As he struck her again and again, as if possessed, blood spattered up and covered his face, sticking to his teeth and lips which stayed in their demonic grin. He stabbed her stomach and torn downwards, so that she could never bare his child, and he laughed.

Then something snatched him by the throat, and he realized he had a chain around his neck and someone was pulling it. He turned and saw Boromir holding the slack of the chain, the Ring of Power hanging between them.

"What are you doing?" Boromir asked, his words distorted as if spoken from under water.

"Nothing," Aragorn said shortly, turning back to Arwen. With horror he saw that it was not Arwen who lay dead, mutilated, on the bed, but Aragorn himself. Aragorn dropped the sword and it shattered like glass on the suddenly stone floor. They were back in Rivendell, in the place where the sword had been lain to rest.

Aragorn stared down at the broken sword, for his dead body had vanished. Boromir pulled on the chain, and Aragorn looked up.

"You are not what you once were. You are changed, as am I."

Aragorn frowned at him, not understanding. "Release me," he said angrily, grabbing the chain around his neck so it would not choke him when Boromir pulled it.

Boromir raised his hands, holding nothing. "It is not I that has you captive."

Aragorn looked at his hands. They trembled before his eyes, and the golden Ring sparkled at him from his middle finger.

"One ring to rule them all," Boromir said gravely. "One ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness-"

"Bind them," Aragorn finished.

Boromir fell silent.

Aragorn smiled and rubbed his hands together, and the more he rubbed the hotter his hands became, until they burst into flames. Yet he did not stop rubbing. He rubbed and rubbed until the fire went out and his hands turned black. And still he rubbed until the ashes rained down and piled on the floor, rubbing until there was nothing left of his hands, and the Ring dropped to the floor and vanished in the rubble.

...

He woke up, gasping. He balled his hands into fists, happy he still had hands to do so with. He swallowed dryly, tasting the stench of the air on his tongue.

Aragorn sat up and looked around. Sitting just outside the over-hanging rock, seeming more of a shadow than a person, Boromir kept watch. Everyone else was still alseep. Aragorn wondered how long he had slept for it still to be so dark.

He took a slow breath. His dream had disturbed him. He did not want to go back to sleep just yet. Slowly, he stood.

Tiptoeing around, careful not to step on rocks or sticks, Aragorn went to Boromir and stood beside him. Boromir said nothing. For some reason, it made Aragorn feel guilty. He put his hand on Boromir's shoulder.

Boromir flinched and smacked Aragorn away, falling over onto his side with a flailing of arms.

Aragorn jumped back, his hand flying to his sword belt, only to find it wasn't hanging around his waist.

"Aragorn," Boromir said breathlessly, straightening up. "Forgive me, you..." He shook his head. "I... I fell asleep. I'm sorry." He hung his head miserably, shaking it again.

Aragorn hugged himself, not knowing what else to do with his hands since his sword was over by his blankets. His heart raced in his chest. He, too, had been startled.

"It's alright," Aragorn muttered, glancing over to check that the others still slept on.

"It isn't," Boromir insisted, rubbing his face. "We could have been ambushed. We all could have die-"

"How long has it been? Have I been alseep long?" Aragorn interupted.

Boromir hesitated. He looked up at the sky. "I cannot be sure. The stars are covered by this reeking haze." He sighed. "Perhaps three hours," he decided. He looked at Aragorn curiously. "What woke you?" He asked. "Did you hear something?"

Aragorn looked down, then squatted beside Boromir. "No, I... I had a nightmare."

"Oh," Boromir looked at his boots, suddenly interested in picking off crusts of dirt. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Aragorn sat down beside him.

Boromir felt a warmth rush over his body and he clenched his teeth together nervously. His eyes slid over to gaze at Aragorn.

"I was with Arwen," Aragorn began softly, staring off into the night.

Boromir looked back at the ground.

"We made love, then afterwards while she slept I..." Aragorn licked his lips. "I had Narsil, and so I, I stabbed her. She woke up screaming, so I stabbed her again, and again, until she died."

Boromir stared at him. He waited a moment, until he thought Aragorn was finished, then he tried to speak but of course that was when Aragorn wanted to continue.

"Then I had the Ring around my neck on a chain, and..." Aragorn hesitated. He was suddenly too embarressed to mention that Boromir had been in his dream. "And instead of Arwen, it was me I had killed. And then I had the Ring on my finger, and I rubbed my hands together until they crumbled into ashes at my feet."

Boromir didn't speak.

Aragorn exhaled. "Well?"

Boromir looked at him.

"Have you nothing to say?" Aragorn asked.

"What would you like me to say?" Boromir asked lowly.

Aragorn frowned and punched Boromir in the shoulder. "Don't give me that!" He snapped. "Give me a _real _answer. And _tell me what you think, not what I want to hear!_"

Boromir averted his eyes. "I am not an interpreter of dreams," he said quietly.

"Boromir, _please,_" Aragorn sighed heavily. "Just give me your opinion."

You feel like you're losing yourself to the Ring. You feel like it's beating you down so that nothing you do can ever stop its power. Boromir bit his lip. I dare not tell him that. Why? Why shouldn't I? It's what I think, is it not? But he does not need such discouragement. He is confused enough as it is. What should I tell him, then, if not the truth? Lies tend to do more harm than good_. I do not know._

"I don't know," Boromir said.

"What don't you know?"

"What my opinion is. I don't know."

Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut, rage climbing into his bones and knotting his fingers into fists. _Why won't you ever just answer me?_

"Tell me what I did to you, Boromir," he said suddenly. He opened his eyes and glared at Boromir.

"What?" Boromir shied, caught off guard.

"What did I do to you?" Aragorn asked deliberately.

"I thought we were passed this," Boromir moaned, pressing the palm of his hand to his eyes.

"Answer," Aragorn ordered.

Boromir opened his eyes, staring into the blackness of his hand. He shook his head. "What gives you the right to lord yourself over me?" He demanded, looking up at Aragorn with a bitter expression. "I am the one that should have power over you. I know everything. _Everything. _In the end, it was only me that was affected, for only I know all the details. What makes you think I should tell you?"

Aragorn gritted his teeth. "I need to know," he said evenly. "So that my conscious will be cleared of these strange feelings."

"Yes?" Boromir leaned close to him. "And what _are_ your feelings?"

"I want to kill you," Aragorn said spitefully, shoving Boromir out of his face. "And... and I want to make you happy."

Boromir's heart fluttered. He thought he might explode with joy.

"Now tell me what I did!" Aragorn hissed.

Boromir's body trembled. His eyes flicked around. He reached with a shaking hand and put it on Aragorn's shoulder. "I do not wish to speak," Boromir said slowly, gently. "May I show you instead?"

Aragorn's eyes widened. Fear clogged his throat, yet he found himself nodding.

Boromir stood up, holding out his hand to help Aragorn up as well.

"Not here," he said, barely able to contain his excitement in a whisper. "Come. We will not go far."

Holding hands, Boromir led Aragorn out into the murky darkness.


	41. Chapter 41

They crept away through the dark, quick and quiet as mice across wood floors. Boromir held Aragorn's hand, and Aragorn was unwilling to let go of it. Neither of them wanted to become seperated in such an unholy place, especially not at night.

After a few cautious minutes, they came to a small dip in the earth that was surrounded with dead bushes and trees. It seemed decent enough to Boromir, and he led them between some branches and into the clearing, then they let go of each other.

Boromir glanced around, feeling sick to his stomach with nerves. He spread out a blanket on the damp earth and hesitantly turned back to Aragorn.

Aragorn stared up at the sky, which was a deep coal-gray. The air was cold, thick and slightly difficult to breathe. It felt as though he were inhaling the spray from a frozen waterfall. Despite the chill, he felt heat rising to his cheeks when he caught Boromir staring at him.

"Why are we out here?" Aragorn asked tensely. Something in Boromir's eyes made him afraid, and he regretting leaving his sword back at camp in case this was a trap.

Boromir bit his trembling lips and took a step towards him. "Don't you want to know?" He asked weakly. He took another step. "What you did to me?"

Aragorn stiffened. He tried to sense his surroundings, the distance from his back to the bushes in case he needed to run away.

Boromir's hands fell to his sword belt, where he began fiddling with the ties.

"What are you doing?" Aragorn demanded. He hated feeling so vulnerable. "If this is a trick, Boromir, I'll-"

The sword belt dropped to the ground. Boromir stepped out of it and stood a mere foot away from Aragorn. His eyes dripped with hurt, and it made Aragorn's heart flicker.

"May I touch you?" Boromir asked quietly, a desperate plea in his voice, a deep longing that finally was able to come to the surface.

Aragorn couldn't swallow. He couldn't even part his lips to speak. So he nodded shortly.

Boromir knelt in front of him and reached for his pants.

"Don't hurt me," Aragorn burst out, balling his hands into uncertain fists at his chest, like a woman snatching at the covers of her bed.

Boromir said nothing.

He licked his dry lips and carefully untied Aragorn's pants, then slowly pulled them down to his ankles. Aragorn's legs were wrought with goosebumps beneath their hair, and though Boromir's hands were cold and he didn't want to make Aragorn uncomfortable, he couldn't help but run his hands from Aragorn's ankles back up to his thighs, where his underwear still remained. Boromir's fingers trembled as he hooked them under the underwear's band.

Aragorn shuddered and closed his eyes. "What are you doing?" He mumbled under his breath, but he got no response.

Boromir pulled them down to join Aragorn's pants around his ankles. As he straightened back up, Aragorn's penis was hanging down to his face.

"This," Boromir said breathlessly, shivering because of the ice in the air and the fire in his blood. "Is what you made me do."

He licked his lips again, then gently took Aragorn's manhood into his right hand.

Aragorn's eyes flew open, his thigh muscles constricting. He was afraid to look down, but he did and beheld Boromir on his knees stroking his penis. It felt good, and he was afraid of that. "What are you doing?" He asked again, his voice seeming too high.

Instantly Boromir halted his rubbing. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked in a low voice.

"No," Aragorn said immediately, for he realized he was getting warm from his touch and it delighted him. "No," he repeated, quieter. "Please don't."

Boromir lowered his head so Aragorn would not see him smile. Disgusted as he was by his own pleasure in this, he did not want to stop either. He began stroking Aragorn again, tightening his grip, quickening his speed.

Aragorn closed his eyes again, tilting back his head. He was at a loss at what to do with his hands, so he reached over his shoulders and seized the back of his shirt. It made him feel more secure for some reason, so he kept them there.

Boromir stared at Aragorn's penis, feeling it swell beneath his hands, feeling its dull, thudding pulse, seeing its tip beginning to weep. He moved his hands faster and faster, until his fingers felt numb and hot at the same time. Aragorn began to groan, and it lit up a burning surge of joy in Boromir's heart.

Suddenly Boromir stopped rubbing him. He swallowed dryly and parted his lips, leaning forward. He held Aragorn's member steady though there was no need for him to do so, for Aragorn was almost fully erect. Moist, soft, and pink, Boromir's tongue slipped out of his mouth and touched the tip of Aragorn's penis.

Aragorn flinched, looked down, and almost protested, but then he caught Boromir's expression. His eyes were closed, his mouth opened ever so slightly, his warm tongue caressing Aragorn's flesh._ I could break your neck right now, _Aragorn thought fleetingly. His hands fell slowly down to Boromir's throat, hovering inches away from his steaming skin. He stared wide-eyed, his mind blank as Boromir pleasured him. I could, he thought again. And he placed the palm of his hand onto Boromir's cheek.

Boromir opened his eyes and looked up at Aragorn.

Aragorn felt himself smile. Boromir smiled shyly, and Aragorn patted his face as if petting a dog for good behavior. Then Aragorn ran his fingers through Boromir's hair, whisperingly soft, patiently tender. Their eyes locked and their gaze held. The purest of sweet intimacies sparkled in both their eyes, and it was too much for Boromir.

A sob erupted unwillingly from his lips, and he lowered his head, turning away from Aragorn's manhood.

Aragorn stood there, suddenly feeling awkward and cold. His erection quickly expired, the chilly night sapping away his warmth. He took his hand away from Boromir's head and reached down to pull up his pants.

Then Boromir seized his hand onto Aragorn's wrist, not letting him go.

"That's enough, Boromir," Aragorn said sternly, tugging his wrist away.

But Boromir didn't let go. He kept his head turned away, eyes closed, silent tears streaming down his face.

"Stop this," Aragorn said, embarressed, wanting to cover himself up and run back to camp. He grabbed onto Boromir's hand and tried to pry away his fingers, but his grip was too firm. It was beginning to hurt.

_"Boromir." _Aragorn frowned. "Don't make me force you."

Boromir lifted his face and stared at Aragorn. Aragorn waited impatiently for him to let go, but instead, Boromir deliberately tightened his grip, which Aragorn had thought was impossible.

_Fine,_ Aragorn thought. He cocked back his arm and swung out with his fist, bashing Boromir in the eye.

Boromir sprawled onto his back with a low grunt.

Aragorn fumblingly jerked up his pants and underwear and tied them on. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he snatched up Boromir's sword belt.

Boromir stood up slowly and faced him.

Aragorn's eyes twitched around as restlessly as a rabbit's. He drew Boromir's sword and pointed it at him.

"You," he said unecessarily. "Stay away."

Boromir tilted his head. "Are you frightened of me?"

"Breathe a word of this to the others and _I will_ devour you."

"Surely I will," Boromir said darkly, stepping forward. "I will tell them every detail. Every moan that fell from your lips. They will know of it."

"Then you will die now!" Aragorn snarled.

"You would kill me with my own blade?" Boromir queried. He wondered why he was not afraid as he took another step.

"Your trickery made me leave mine-"

"Trickery?" Boromir didn't try to hide his amusement.

"Yes," Aragorn said grouchily. "Your trickery."

He pointed the sword at Boromir's chest, but Boromir smacked the blade away, cutting open his hand. Before Aragorn could react, Boromir was up against him, chest to chest. He wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck and kissed him furiously.

Aragorn's arms stuck out at his sides, stiff, uncertain, afraid. His lips were forced apart by Boromir's hot tongue as it invaded his mouth and explored every crevice. Boromir pushed himself tighter against Aragorn, and their hips collided together as one. Heat flushed up and down his body, and Aragorn moaned into Boromir's mouth as his penis filled with blood. The sword slipped from his fingers and thudded softly onto the blanket, and Aragorn recklessly threw his arms around Boromir's back.


	42. Chapter 42

Boromir had never before felt so powerful. The blood pulsed angrily through every vein, his heart racing in time to keep up with his panting lungs. His eyes, wide and black, searched in the darkness for Aragorn's lips. Once found, his arms flew out and wrapped tightly around Aragorn's back, then pulled him forward so that their mouths connected as one.

Sucking, licking, biting, Boromir engulfed Aragorn's lips with his own, shoving his tongue between Aragorn's slick teeth and violating every space within his mouth. Aragorn moaned, a sound that struck Boromir as more pain that pleasure, but he ignored it. He pressed himself hard against Aragorn, tilting his pelvis up and forcing it to rub into Aragorn's crotch. Heat burned inside of Boromir, desperate to come out, with him desperate to let it. With one had still holding Aragorn against him, Boromir dropped his other hand down and seized the bulge of Aragorn's pants.

Finger-nails dug into Boromir's shoulders as Aragorn suddenly tried to shove him away. But when Boromir didn't relent, Aragorn bit down hard onto Boromir's bottom lip.

Boromir jerked back, releasing Aragorn. Boromir stared, panting thinly, licking his lip and tasting the bitterness of his own blood.

Aragorn doubled over himself, gasping, pressing the heels of his hands into his knees. He shook his head. "I do not want you to touch me," he said after a few moments.

Boromir stiffened. He thought perhaps he had been too aggressive. He regretted it. He sighed. "My apologizes," he said seriously. "If I hurt you."

Aragorn frowned, offended. "It is not that," he retorted. "It... It's just unnatural for a man to-"

"Then call me Arwen," Boromir interupted.

Aragorn froze_. "What?"_

"Call me Arwen, if that would help. Just think of me as your-"

"_How dare you_ say that to me!" Aragorn snapped.

Boromir blinked.

"How dare you bring her up during... To think of _you_ as my..." Aragorn hesitated. "None of this- none of these feelings would be real if I thought of you as someone else. Nothing would be true. Arwen is... You're just..."

"Yes?" Boromir pressed, taking a step towards him. "What am I?"

Aragorn flicked his eyes up, meeting Boromir's. "I love _Arwen_," Aragorn replied. "I love Arwen."

"But not I?" Boromir asked, a shadow covering his eyes.

"No." Aragorn clinched his teeth. "You're an experiment. I've never done such things with a man before. I know now that it is not something I desire."

"Pardon me?" Boromir hissed. "I'm not something you desire? Just a whore then, am I? Use me and toss me?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Boromir, please. You were the one who brought me out here tonight."

"But you were the one who started-"

"Under the influence of the Ring!" Aragorn cried. "Not by my own doing, no. I would_ never _have done _anything_ like this in my life. I had never even considered it. My conscious was clean until you tried to force me to remember it." His lips curled into a scowl. "If you had just kept your mouth shut, or ran away, or died, _anything_, then all of this-"

"I hate you," Boromir spat.

Aragorn didn't know what to say. At last he forced out, "that's fine. I do not enjoy your company, either. Good night to you, then." And he turned and started walking, pushing branches and dead leaves out of the way.

Boromir stood there. He trembled beneath his very bones. Such fury whelled up inside of his stomach. His eyes blurred his hot tears. Boromir wanted to scream and rip the earth apart with his hands.

Then a glint caught Boromir's eye. His sword on the ground. It appeared in his hand, and his fingers gripped onto the hilt, his knuckles whitening. He glared at Aragorn's back as he struggled up the dark hill.

"Aragorn," he said, raising his sword.

Aragorn exhaled sharply, then turned around.

Boromir was about to rush forward and run his blade into Aragorn's chest, but a sudden screech broke the cold tension.

Nazgul.

Instinctively, Boromir crouched down and stared up at the sky, while Aragorn ducked behind the bushes and tried to see through them.

"Where are they?" Boromir whispered desperately.

Another screech erupted nearby, the noise piercing their eardrums and resounding inside their skulls.

"Stay back!" A voice called.

"Gimli, watch them!"

"Where is Aragorn?"

_"Strider!"_

The sudden sharp sound of steel clashing with steel.

Boromir and Aragorn looked at each other, their eyes bearing the same look of horror. They sprang up and ran back to camp, stumbling over rocks and slipping on patches of mud all the way there. Someone had lit a fire and it blazed out in the night, stinking of rot yet warm with life. Aragorn and Boromir raced to it.

"Was this your plan?" Aragorn demanded.

"What?" Boromir was confused.

"Call them to us, let them find the Ring?"

Boromir was stunned. "I would never!" He cried.

Aragorn didn't respond.

Boromir ran, fighting back tears. Everything he did was in vain. The one he thought he loved thought he was in league with the enemy. No choice he ever made would be the right one. All he caused was pain. Now Frodo and the others were under attack, and it was his fault for not being there to warn them, or to protect them.

He tripped on a root and almost fell, but Aragorn caught him and held him steady. Then Aragorn took his hand and together they hurried back to save the Fellowship.


	43. Chapter 43

Sam pressed his hand into Frodo's chest, keeping him behind him and, he hoped, out of sight. His thin sword trembled in his right fist, yet he kept his knees steady as the Nazgul turned its gaze towards them.

"Don't worry, Mr Frodo," Sam said under his breath

Merry stood beside Sam, sword drawn, bitterness and determination on his face. Though he did not want to die like this, he was prepared to, for he knew Pippin must not have wanted to die as he had, either.

Frodo, his back itching sharply against the jagged stone wall, remained still and silent. His body was frozen with a cold so undeniable familiar that it sent a spike of pain through his chest. He lifted a shaking hand and clenched the Ring, pressing it into the place where he had once before been stabbed by the Nazgul's blade. The Ring was warm in his palm, and his eyes lulled back as he relished its comfort. It whispered his name, and though the voice was the voice of the enemy, it still offered a peacefulness to Frodo's heart, like a long-forgotten lullaby. All other noises blurred away into nothingness.

Legolas lifted another flaming branch from the fire and swung it at the Nazgul, but the Nazgul merely slashed the branch in half with its sword. The wood fell to the cold ground and sparked before quickly smoking out.

Gimli roared and chopped at the Nazgul with his massive axe, but he reached out and caught axe's blade with its hand. Gimli grunted, eyes wide with terror, and struggled to pull his axe out of the creature's grasp, but he could not. The Nazgul hissed and swung his sword at Gimli's neck, but Gimli reluctantly let go of his axe and ducked just in time.

"How is this one so powerful?" Gimli hollered angrily, waiting for the Nazgul to try and use his own weapon against him.

Legolas narrowed his eyes, dipping the tip of an arrow into the small fire. He shot it at the Nazgul and it stuck into his cloak. The fire flew hungrily upwards towards his head, but the Nazgul clapped his arms over the flames until they went out. He turned to Legolas with a dark, faceless expression.

Legolas scowled. "This must be their leader," he concluded.

Suddenly the Nazgul swung out with his elbow and bashed Gimli in the face, knocking him out cold. Gimli crashed to the ground and slid against the rough stones before coming to a rest near Sam's feet.

Sam inhaled sharply. "Oh, great," he said weakly.

Merry seized onto Sam's shoulder. "We're not giving up," he said sternly. "Not until our lifeless bodies are dashed open upon these rocks."

Sam winced at the thought, giving Merry a withering look that Merry paid no heed to.

Legolas heard footsteps in the dark, and he turned hopefully towards them to see Aragorn and Boromir rushing over, becoming visable as they drew near to the light.

Boromir immediately attacked the Nazgul, throwing himself recklessly in between the Hobbits and the wraith and slashing out with his sword.

Aragorn glanced around quickly, taking in the scene and trying to locate his sword belt. He saw it not too far off, and he ran to it. Only, something distracted him. Frodo, mostly hidden behind Merry and Sam, had the Ring in his fingertips. It glittered in the crackling fire-light, and it made Aragorn mad. _Surely _the Nazgul can see you! Or is that what you want? He hesitated, standing there, feeling quite confused. He was not sure if he was trying to direct his thoughts to Frodo, or to the Ring itself. But then he caught Frodo's expression, the utter, uselessly engulfed look of one who has accepted that life has nothing more to give them. _He's surrendered to the enemy,_ Aragorn realized. He's betrayed us all!

Aragorn ran at Frodo, shoving Merry and Sam out of the way, not noticing them get knocked off of their feet. Frodo, in a trance, didn't see him coming. Aragorn cocked back his arm and punched him in the jaw.

The Ring jolted from Frodo's fingers, lifted into the air, then held still, suspended by the chain around his neck. It began to fall, down, sideways, as Frodo's body drifted to the right in deliriously slow-motion. Aragorn's eyes, wide, his mouth agape, drooling, his hand snatched forward before the Ring could fall with Frodo, and he jerked it away, snapping the chain's link and freeing the poisoned gold. Triumphant, Aragorn clutched the Ring to his chest, and time resumed its normal pace.

Frodo hit the ground like a rag-doll, blood bursting up from his mouth as his cheek smacked into the stone.

"Frodo!" Sam cried, dropping to his side and cradling his head. Frodo's eyes remained opened, but they appeared to be unseeing. Sam wept over him.

"What is the matter with you?" Merry screamed, punching Aragorn in the stomach, for that was all he could reach.

Aragorn grunted and hopped backwards, away from the Hobbits. "Be still, you fool!" Aragorn scolded. "You didn't see what I saw..." He mumbled, looking down into his hands. In his hands, he held a precious thing, a delicate thing. Only he could keep it safe, now. Only the mother bird knows how to protect her eggs the best. He smiled down at the Ring, feeling... happy.

"Aragorn," a voice interupted his thoughts.

Aragorn turned.

The Nazgul was five feet away from him.

Aragorn flicked his eyes around.

Legolas was unconscious or dead on the ground by the fire.

Boromir, the same, laying right outside the glow of the flames, in the cold shadows.

Gimli sprawled in a silent lump. With his mouth hanging open, it seemed as though he had bitten his tongue, for blood was pooling out around his lips, but upon closer inspection, the blood was actually from a gash in his head, and the blood was running down from beneath his beard.

Sam, hugging over Frodo's deranged person, kept his streaming eyes closed, for he did not desire to believe what he had just witnessed Aragorn do.

Merry was crouched down beside Sam, his sword still in hand, pinchedly watching Aragorn and the Nazgul.

Aside from Sam's low whimperings, the odd cracklings of the dying fire was the only sound.

"Aragorn."

Aragorn looked at Merry, only to realize it was not he who had spoken. Aragorn swallowed a mouthful of air and looked at the Ringwraith.

The Nazgul held out his hand, palm up, fingers extended. "Give us the Ring," he ordered.

Aragorn twirled the Ring in his hand. It was beginning to feel quite hot. "What will you give me?" He asked slowly.

"Aragorn!" Merry shouted. Defiantly, he stood up.

"Your life..." The Nazgul hissed, taking a step. He lifted his long, grey blade, poised to strike.

"And?" Aragorn pressed, thumbing the Ring fondly, enjoying that it was burning his fingers, for he felt like it was making him stronger.

The Nazgul let out a low wail, pointing his sword at Aragorn's chest, the tip two inches away. "Or your death."

Aragorn pursed his lips, considering it. He balled his hand into a fist, then opened it. The Ring shone from his palm like the moon on a still pond. He held it out to the Nazgul, opening his mouth to speak.

But then Merry screamed_ "No!" _and clashed his sword against the Nazgul's, forcing him back. "You must fight it, Aragorn!" Merry cried, tears running down his cheeks. "Don't let them beat you! They aren't _supposed_ to win!"

Aragorn stared at Merry, dumbfounded, watching as the Nazgul whirled on him and slashed open his arm before punching the top of his skull with an iron glove. Merry collapsed with a groan, trembling briefly on his hands and knees before flopping onto his belly.

Aragorn tilted his head and the Nazgul mirrored him. They faced each other once more.

"Life," the Nazgul whispered. "Or death." He gestured around him, at the lifeless members of the Fellowship, at the dying embers of the fire.

"There is _no life _when you side with the enemy," Legolas said, struggling to his feet. "None."

With eyes hard as steel, Legolas reached into the fire and pulled out the biggest branch that still had a bit of glow to it, and he ran at the Nazgul and leapt into the air, plunging the branch straight into the Nazgul's face.

With an unholy scream, the Nazgul spun around and hurried out into the night. Right before it was out of Legolas' line of sight, it mounted its Fell beast, which had been completely camoflagued in the darkness. The low sound of massive, beating wings filled the air, and the Nazgul flew away with a cackling cry from the beast.

As the sound faded from the air, the last of the embers burned out of the fire, leaving Legolas and Aragorn in silence and shadow.


	44. Chapter 44

In the sudden darkness, Frodo began to pant. His eyes rolled crazily, unseeingly, and his hands reached forward to grasp on to Sam's cloak.

Sam felt a rush of terror. He looked towards where he'd last seen Aragorn and Legolas, but he only could see blackness. He took Frodo's wrists and held him close, needing to feel his soft warmth.

Legolas struck flint against wood, lighting a small fire on the end of a stick. He held it up high, illuminating the darkness. Yellow and black, shadow and flame, danced across his face as the fire flickered and snapped, angrily burning the wood into ash.

Legolas's eyes narrowed. "Aragorn," he said loudly.

Aragorn paid him no heed. _Why have I put this off for so long? _He asked himself. I do not believe I have ever felt... Such _joy. _He gazed at the Ring in his palm with adoration, stroking it with the very tip of his index finger. He was enjoying the sick pleasure of resistance, seeing how long he could go without sliding it on to his finger. The temptation was a sick thrill for him. He grinned like a dog, his eyes rolling as the Ring continued to whisper his name.

"Sam," Frodo whimpered, his hands trembling. "Sam, don't let..." But his words fell to the back of his throat and were swallowed by fear and uncertainty.

Sam looked at Frodo sadly, but then he was enraged. How dare Aragorn betray us like this! He snapped his jaw shut, glaring at Aragorn. _Poor Frodo! _This must be torture for him! Frodo's fingers suddenly went limp and he slipped away from Sam, sitting down in a slump.

_"Strider!" _Sam could stand it no longer. "Give it back to Frodo!" He stood up to prove he was serious, grabbing his sword.

"It's mine!" Aragorn spat venomously, smacking the Ring to his chest.

_"Aragorn..."_

Aragorn's heart quickened. His eyes swiveled around as he searched for the one that called his name. He swallowed, his eyes widening as he saw Boromir standing near the fire. Boromir stood on shaking legs. He had been wounded, but Aragorn could not tell where or how badly.

Boromir stepped towards him. "I..." He winced, and Aragorn gloatingly knew he must be in a great deal of pain. "I know what you must be feeling," Boromir said thinly, his voice as warbled as his feet.

Aragorn stood stiff, watching breathlessly, waiting for what, he did not know. He curled his fingers over the Ring as Boromir approached.

As Boromir came closer, an old sense of longing rose up inside of his gut. He stared at the Ring and his mouth filled with fluid. But then he stood in front of Aragorn with eyes dark and full of sorrow, running out and leaving muddy streaks down his dirty face.

"The Ring is alluring, is it not?" Boromir asked weakly, gazing into Aragorn's eyes, a small smile twitching on his blood-scabbed lips. "But just as an open field promises flowers, there are poisonous snakes that hide in the grass."

Aragorn's hand acted on its own. Suddenly his hand slapped on to Boromir's throat, his fingers crushing into his windpipe.

"You dare try to take it from me?!" Aragorn yelled, holding his right hand above his head with the Ring in its fist, like a child attempting to keep a toy out of the reach of a sibling.

"No, my Lord," Boromir forced out, raising his hand. Instead of trying to fight Aragorn off, Boromir rested his hand gently on top of Aragorn's, which still clung to his neck.

Their eyes locked.

Legolas and Sam stared.

Aragorn fell forward into solid marble eyes, breaking through the grayness and swimming upwards. But the tears were too many and he could not swim fast enough, for the tears kept coming. Aragorn struggled to swim to the surface, but instead of light and hope, the great Eye of Sauron blazed down at him. Aragorn screamed and closed his eyes, but the great fire came and burned through his eyelids. Forced to look, unable to stop screaming, Aragorn could do nothing but inhale the salty tears and drown.

Aragorn snapped out of it, gasping, shoving Boromir away from him. He mashed his hands against his face and felt it wet with tears. He sobbed into his hands uncontrollably, quivering violently.

"I..." Aragorn gasped out.

Boromir took a step towards him, straining his ears to listen.

_"I remember."_ His voice had dropped into a pathetic whisper. Aragorn slowly sank down and sat on his knees, hanging his head down low. The Ring dropped from his slimy fingers and thudded heavily into the stone floor.

Frodo gasped, feeling the Ring's weight.

"He remembers," Legolas echoed tonelessly.

Boromir's stomach turned to ice. Suddenly all that had passed between them no longer matter. The hatred, the anger, none of it was important, or even valid. Boromir came and knelt in front of him, their knees almost touching. He placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"Be at peace, brother," Boromir said, blinking rapidly. "I bear you no ill will."

"B-but before, you said you hated me..." Aragorn blubbered, unable to look Boromir in the eye.

"I was being foolish."

"And what am I?" Aragorn demanded hotly, hitting the ground with his fist.

Boromir hesitated, then put his other hand on Aragorn's shoulder as well. "You are among friends," he told him gently.

"Like hell you are!" Sam shouted. Brandishing his sword, Samwise the Brave rushed over and swung at Aragorn's neck.

Boromir dove into Sam's legs, tripping him just before he could commit his crime. He wrestled the sword from Sam's grasp and pinned the young Halfling to the ground.

"Be still, Sam!" Boromir snapped. "The evil has fled from his heart!"

"No!" Sam squirmed like a fish out of water. "Frodo needs the Ring! He _needs _it!"

Aragorn looked passed Sam and Boromir to see Frodo.

Frodo was staring right back.

A bit stunned, Aragorn picked up the Ring and got to his feet. He felt disgust with himself, for the Ring was just a circle of cold gold. A slight bit of weight in the palm of his hand. Meaningless.

Samwise hollered and tried to punch Boromir in the eye, so Boromir smacked Sam on the cheek. Sam fell silent.

Aragorn walked over to Frodo and got on his knees before him. He handed him the Ring, and Frodo took it without hesitation. Aragorn bowed his head. "I will not ask for your forgiveness," he said in a low voice. "Nor will I ask you to trust me again. I only ask for you to decide my fate. Say the word, and I will leave the Fellowship and be gone forever."

Boromir stood up, releasing Sam._ You cannot leave me now, _he thought, a bit panicked.

Samwise half-crawled back over to Frodo and crouched at his side protectively. He looked at Frodo carefully. He wanted to answer for him, to tell him to just let the bugger have it, to run him through. But he knew this was something Frodo had to determine, for it was he that had come to love Aragorn more than any of the others. That's what Sam thought, anyway.

"My heart is in shambles," Frodo mumbled at last, staring down at the Ring in his hand. Slowly, he lifted the flap of his shirt pocket and dropped the Ring inside. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them. He looked up at Aragorn. "I cannot send you away," he said seriously. "For I do not know if I can stand losing another person. Your mind appears sound, now, so I have no reason not to trust you. However... I do not think I will ever be able to call you my friend."

Aragorn nodded shortly. He did not let Frodo see how anguished he was by his answer. "Thank you, Frodo," he said humbly. He stood quickly and turned away.

Legolas gathered more wood into a pile and lit it, then went to check on Gimli.

Aragorn stood bitterly staring at the ground, watching shadows waiver and deepen by the rise and fall of the flames.

Boromir wanted to rush over to Aragorn and pull him to pieces with his fingernails, yet he also wanted to tiptoe to him, touch his lips with his thumb, and kiss the very edge of his chin. He took a shuddering breath, looking away. It was then that he noticed Merry.

"Merry?" He called, running to him. He dropped to the ground and lifted Merry's still form and cradled him in his lap. He touched his forehead and it was sticky with drying blood. An open wound buried beneath his hair leaked cold blood. "I- I need a towel," Boromir cried. He looked over his shoulder at Aragorn. "A towel, please," he begged when Aragorn looked at him. "And some water."

Aragorn shuffled his feet over to his pack and pulled out an extra blanket and a flask of water. He brought it to Boromir and sat down beside him dully, watching Boromir as he worked.

Snatching the blanket, he immediately wet a corner with the water and began cleaning the blood off of Merry's face and neck, so he could see where he was wounded. Then he began very gently to clean the blood from his hair and staunch the blood flow of the wound. Then Boromir tilted Merry's neck back carefully, dabbing the flask into his lips. Merry' mouth opened and he gave him some water. To Boromir's relief, Merry began to swallow.

"He's alive," Boromir whispered happily, hugging Merry gratefully.

Merry winced and opened his eyes. Merry blinked tiredly at Boromir, then smiled, since Boromir was still smiling. "Are we alright?" Merry asked.

"Yes," Aragorn said firmly. He cast Boromir a meaningful glance. "We are quite alright."

Boromir couldn't breathe. He looked at Aragorn and instantly froze, for their noses were inches apart.

"Aragorn, Boromir," Legolas interrupted, his tone oddly sharp.

Boromir shut his mouth, not realizing it had been open. He looked down at Merry and stood up, holding him in his arms like a child. Exhaling, he turned and faced Legolas.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, not wanting to stand up.

Legolas's shoulders sagged. "Gimli..." he said tenderly. "He's... he's dead." He stared down at the fallen Dwarf's body.

No one spoke. They all knew Legolas would not lie at a time like this.

"Are you certain?" Boromir asked anyway.

Legolas gave him a withering look. "Yes," he answered. "I am certain."

Merry pushed on Boromir's chest until Boromir sat him down. Merry went over to Gimli and stood beside Legolas. They stood and stared at the dead Dwarf.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn said after a long moment of silence.

Legolas and Boromir looked at him.

"I feel that most of what has happened is my fault," Aragorn went on. "Now I know what I have done, and I am ashamed that I have done it. But let us not lose faith, for I will not, either. Gimli died protecting us from the Enemy. Let is not be that he died in vain. At first light, we move on through these swamps. Before the sun sets, by the Kings, we will be at Mordor's doorstep!" He glared around at everyone, making sure they had heard him.

"But what about Gim-?"

"I'm sorry, Merry, but you know we have no choice but to leave him. We may even need to push him into a swamp hole." Aragorn grimaced.

Merry frowned at his insensitivity and walked over to Sam and Frodo. He sat down with them and Frodo reached over and hugged him. Sam couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy.

Legolas dutifully began covering Gimli with the cleanest blanket he could find.

Boromir went and stood beside Aragorn. "I am sorry, also," he said in a low voice. "For it is not by your fault alone that such misfortune has befallen us." He swallowed bitterly. "If I had but _controlled_ my lustful affections, then-"

"Please, Boromir," Aragorn interupted. "I am merely ashamed that I am so weak to the Ring's influence. Nothing more."

Boromir, startled, searched Aragorn's face for a detailed explanation, but none was forthcoming. Aragorn smiled the smallest, sneakiest of smiles, patted Boromir on the chest, and walked away.


	45. Chapter 45

Sleep did not come for any of them for the remainder of the night, though most of them tried. Tossing and turning, rising occasionally to relieve another of his watch, the Fellowship grew exhausted.

When dawn came, its light was gray and thick, full of the rot of the dead swamp's mist.

After a brief discussion, Gimli's body was carried between Boromir and Aragorn to the back of the cavern, and they swaddled his stiffening, heavy corpse in blankets and laid his weapons on either side of him. They knew that Gimli would not have wanted to be dumped in a stinking swamp hole, dead or alive.

Legolas went over and, after kissing them, sprinkled a various assortment of Elven herbs and plants over Gimli's body to keep the stench of decay at bay.

Frodo stood slumped like a zombie, blinking slowly, seeming not even to notice Sam helping him put his backpack on.

Sam put on an act, pretending he was in high spirits despite the loss of yet another companion. For Frodo, he told himself, biting back bitter tears.

Merry did not desire to lie to himself. His eyes were red with tears. His nostrils streamed with snot. Aching with sadness, he hugged himself for comfort, but it did not help. He watched the Men and Elf prepare Gimli for abandonment, and immediately felt sick to his stomach. Pippin had also been abandoned. I should have stay with him, he thought. But what good would that have done? Merry wiped his eyes with a trembling hand. _We should have never left the Shire._

Legolas looked worse than the day before. His eyes were sunken and dark around the rims. His face had a sickly, pasty pallor. His breathing was unsteady, each breath thin and rapid. He tried not to show it, but his insides were in a great deal of pain. Being a Wood-elf, Legolas's body could not take the harsh fumes the Dead Marshes consistently belched out.

"We should be off," Aragorn was the first to speak that morning. His voice seemed odd and out of place, like a pebble bouncing down the walls of a deep well.

They all turned to him and then grabbed their things.

Boromir followed Aragorn in a daze. He was not sure if the dizziness he felt was because of an injury he had sustained from the Nazgul, or something more. But either way, his heart was in a bitter transition, leaning towards love and away from the hatred that once held him fast.

Aragorn, too, was uncertain of his emotions. It were as though he had been struck by lightning. All of the facts and details of his and Boromir's affair were torn open and exposed in his mind. Down to the last glorious, terrifying detail. He was angry at himself for losing control for such a long period of time. But what bothered him the most, now that he truely knew everything, was why Boromir had not tried to stop him. Is his love and devotion to me that strong? He wondered in awe.

Aragorn glanced his way as Boromir shoved a forgotten frying pan into his pack.

Boromir felt his glance and met his eyes, his face twisting into a grimace as he was not sure if it were proper or not to smile.

Aragorn looked ahead and marched by. Quickly, Boromir straightened up and paused to let the Hobbits go first, then he followed them at the rear of the group. Legolas trotted over to Aragorn and walked beside him, for all the world seeming normal and healthy.

The remaining six companions headed out, minding their footing as they made their way to the heart of the Dead Marshes.

...

Boromir's knees thudded into the earth, bits of rocks and sticks pricking into his skin. A soft moan escaped his lips as Aragorn began kissing the back of his neck, Aragorn's hand pushing into his back, keeping Boromir on his knees.

Boromir gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, bowing his head down between his arms. A trembling took hold of his body, raging with heat and pulsing with barely contained power.

Aragorn removed his hand from Boromir's back, laying instead his whole torso down on top of him. Aragorn's chest was hot and he panted heavily for breath, resting his cheek on Boromir's shoulder, his arms wrapped around his neck.

Boromir did not waiver. He withstood Aragorn's weight like a silent pack mule, as if he had expected it. Aragorn's hands passed in front of his face, and Boromir strained himself but still managed to kiss his left thumb.

Aragorn's hand twitched, and he jerked it down to his crotch where his penis stuck out, harshly exposed. It hung down slightly near Boromir's thighs, but he took hold of it and held it still. Feeling out with his index finger, Aragorn guided his penis up to Boromir's exit hole.

Boromir felt Aragorn's hot, moist tip poking around his buttock. He dug his fingers into the dirt, anticipating the pain. But little did he know, this was not the same violent, sex-crazied Aragorn that had been possessed by the Ring.

Aragorn hesitated, seeing the Boromir's hole, and his penis ready to enter it. He recalled penetrating Boromir before, that time so long ago in the woods. There, he had caused Boromir much pain and suffering. He regretted it deeply, knowing that that had not been the only time. His erection began to slack away.

Boromir twisted his head around to see Aragorn looking down, seeing a memory rather than the present.

"Aragorn?" Boromir whispered gently, the name being the first thing spoken in well over an hour. "Are you alright?"

Aragorn pushed himself upright and sat down on his knees. He shook his head.

Boromir turned, sitting directly in front of him. "My apologies," Boromir said after a moment. "I was not thinking. This must all be too soon for you-"

"Be still," Aragorn said irritably.

Boromir bit back his words. Silence reigned for quite a long while, but then Aragorn spoke.

"I _do _want this, Boromir," he admitted, the courage he tried to gather to say those words faltering out in a girlish pitch. "I just... I don't want to hurt you again."

Boromir was touched. He couldn't hide his smile of gratitude. "Do not worry," he said, laying his hand down on top of Aragorn's. His steel gray eyes softer than dust bunnies. "You will not hurt me."

Aragorn stared at him, his heart-beat quickening at his reasurring touch.

Boromir noticed that Aragorn's penis had become limp, so he slipped his hand down and took hold of it.

Aragorn stiffened but did not protest. Boromir's hand was rough and dry against his tender, nearly-errect flesh.

Boromir tightened his grip, then released him. Quickly, Boromir licked his hand and grabbed Aragorn's penis again. Then he moved his hand up and down, up and down, working quickly, his fingers flexing and relaxing as they pumped.

Aragorn's eyes lolled. He closed his eyes as his body began to sweat, waves of heat washing over him. His penis felt as though it were spasming with boiling water. Boromir's hand felt good, practiced, and careful.

Suddenly, Aragorn's eyes flew open.

Boromir had brought his lips down and was suckling at Aragorn's tip while he worked him with his hand. His hand, losing its wetness, grew rough and uneven. But Boromir's tongue was soft, slobbery, and teasingly acute. Lines of drool ran down from his lips and helped lubricate his hand.

The combination of sensations, though initially a bit disturbing to Aragorn, was fantastic.

Soon Aragorn's penis was full to near bursting, and Boromir could taste it. He pulled his mouth away and let go with his hand, sitting back. His eyes were wild, his hair stringy and dark, his mouth open as he sucked in air.

Aragorn was confused and somewhat irritated. His pulsating member had started cooling off the instant Boromir's tongue left it. He looked at Boromir, about to ask why he stopped, but Boromir answered with his actions.

He turned back around and resumed his position on his hands and knees, tilting his butt into the air submissively.

"I promise you, no harm will befall me," Boromir told him breathlessly. "Please, Aragorn."

Aragorn hesitated, rubbing his penis with his thumb to keep it warm. He stared between Boromir's cheeks to his hairy hole, knowing how tight it would be, how warm, how slick.

He straightened up and walked on his knees to Boromir. Taking a slow breath, Aragorn wiped a tiny amount of cum from his tip and rubbed it between his fingers, then spat into his hand.

Boromir closed his eyes, the suspense driving him mad. His insides began constricting with desire as he heard Aragorn spitting and rubbing his hands together.

Aragorn massaged the spit and semen onto his penis, lubing it up. Then he stepped forward and pushed the head up against Boromir's tightly closed butthole.

"Relax," Aragorn said, feeling guilty for some reason. He blinked rapidly, setting his jaw. His penis suddenly slipped easily inside of Boromir. Excitement increased his heart rate. Aragorn pushed himself in as far as he could go, until his testicles were jammed up against the back of Boromir's own.

Boromir sighed out heavily, and Aragorn felt him tighten around his penis. The sensation is so different than being inside of a woman, Aragorn thought. Vaguely he thought of a mouse being swallowed by a snake.

He jerked himself back, nearly leaving Boromir, then shoved himself in. He leaned over Boromir and licked up his backbone to the soft hairs on the back of his neck. He nuzzled Boromir's ear with his nose, then kissed and sucked at his earlobe. Boromir shuddered with delight. Aragorn straightened back up, and soon he was bucking against Boromir like an animal, pleasure rippling through both of them.

Boromir flinched and moaned in ecstasy, each thrust feeling harder and deeper than before. But it did not feel as though he were being torn apart, as it had when Aragorn first had entered inside of him. Though Aragorn was not being very gently, he was not being rough or selfish, either. Emotions gushed forth into his eyes and spilled out as silent tears. Boromir, at last, felt truly loved.

...

They laid together on the cold ground, Boromir resting his cheek on the prickly brown hairs of Aragorn's chest, eyes closed peacefully. Aragorn ran his fingers through Boromir's hair and stared up at the gray, foreboding sky.

There were many questions they wanted to ask each other._ "Why?" _was the main question.

Why are you still drawn to me?

Do you not love your Elf maiden?

Are you not angry with me for hurting you? Why do you slumber when you know I have the power to take your life? You know I do not wish for our secrets to be revealed. Why do you not fear me?

Why is it that you have chosen me over the woman you love? Or have you really made a choice? Am I just something to pass the time with until you can be with her again? Why can you not tell me your true emotions?

But none of those questions would be answered tonight, for neither of them wanted to bring up their thoughts and ruin the small amount of joy they had found together.


	46. Chapter 46

The Dead Marshes loomed up ahead through a patch of stinking fog. The Fellowship trudged up a rocky rise in the earth, side-stepping jagged hunks of black and gray stone, and went down the other side and suddenly they were there.

As far as the eye could see, the swamps stretched on and on ahead of them. Thin brown strips of grass snaked through steaming, frothy pits of murky water. Some of the water holes had bits of flame glowing incessantly at their edges. More fog kept them from seeing Mount Doom, but they knew it was just on the other side of the marsh.

As they drew nearer, Frodo began to hear the wail of the dead, their incomprehensible voices hissing in his ears.

Boromir did his best not to inhale the steam. He tore a piece of cloth from his shirt and tied it over his mouth, believing the air to be toxic. He looked over at Legolas but stared right through him, seeing only Aragorn. Boromir ripped another piece off and brought it to Aragorn.

"Here," he said, his voice somewhat muffled.

Aragorn glanced over at him and took the cloth wordlessly, keeping his eyes solidly locked to Boromir's as he tied the useless rag over his mouth.

Legolas pulled, with a trembling hand, the cloth that Aragorn had given him a few days previous. He clutched it to his mouth and took a shuddering breath, his vision seeming puffy around the edges as he scanned the area.

Soon everyone had a make-shift mask.

"Which way do we go?" Sam asked, blinking rapidly as though the haze were in his eyes and not the air.

Aragorn and Boromir looked at Sam, then each other.

Boromir straightened his spine, like a soldier standing at attention. He gazed into Aragorn's deep hazel eyes, his own gray ones hard with unexplainable fear. He forced himself to turn away, feeling a bit breathless as he strode ahead of the group.

He stepped up to a large hole, the edges of his boots threatening to slide inside with the mud. This mud hole was marked with a torch flame, and so was the in front of it, off to the left.

"This way," he said, following the fire.

"Wait," Merry burst out.

They all looked at Merry.

"Gandalf said not to follow the lights," he said, hesitantly, then insistantly. "Remember?"

Boromir hesitated. "I believe his instructions were_ to _follow them, little one," he told Merry in a quiet voice, as if explaining to a child why one should be silent during story-time.

"Are you certain?" Aragorn asked before Merry could interject, stepping up to Boromir with a dark expression.

Boromir faltered. He could not answer.

Aragorn turned to Merry.

"Are _you _certain?" He asked him.

"Nearly," Merry said after a pause. The slight conflict had thrown him off. "I mean, I'm pretty sure."

"What happens if we follow the lights when we're not supposed to?" Aragorn asked loudly to anyone who might want to answer.

"This is an unholy place," Legolas said thinly, his eyes straining to stay open. "Spirits of the dead thrives in these waters. Orcs, Elves, Men- All of them cursed to remain in these deathly pools. The lights may be a trap rather than a guide."

"We cannot discuss this much further," Boromir put in impatiently. "The Black Riders no doubt know where we are headed. There are no shelters out here. We must move swiftly and get out of this place."

Aragorn let his gaze linger on Boromir for a moment too long and a not-so-subtle flutter of emotions passed between them, but Legolas, who had seen it, thought perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him and counting it out as nought.

...

In the end, they decided they shouldn't follow the flames. They started moving in single-file line, Boromir first, then Merry, then Legolas, then Sam and Frodo, with Aragorn at the rear.

The going was slow, the ground slick and deep. The Hobbit's feet sunk into the muck well passed their ankles. The fog seemed to close in all around them, and the air turned bad and everyone began coughing and gasping. They kept their cloth masks pressed over their mouths, but it did not help.

Frodo had his fingers laced in the back of Sam's pants, keeping his head down as he walked, trusting Sam to lead him safely to the other side. His eyes were half-closed, and he watched his feet move forwards and back, forwards and back, as he walked. It did not feel as though they were his feet. The Ring pulled at his neck, the chain sawing into the dirty skin beneath his hair. Its weight was almost too much for the young Halfling to bear.

As he walked, Merry saw something move beneath the waters of a nearby pool. He paused in his tracks, turning his head to look. Legolas shuffled on by without a word, and Merry likewise ignored him. He leaned over the water, feeling the crisp bite of its steam against his chin. A rotten stench smacked him in the face, so he tilted his head away, took a breath and held it, and looked back into the swamp hole. The water was deep. It went on for hundreds of feet, it seemed. The surface was clear enough, but the deeper it went, the dirtier it became.

He saw it again. A flash of white, leaving a faint ripple on the surface. _A fish?_ He wondered. Merry knelt down, the cloth tied around his head dropping down to hang from his neck like a scarf. He didn't notice. The idea of it being a fish arose in his stomach an aching pang of hunger. He grimaced and thought how nice it would be to eat a freshly caught, roasted pike, right now.

Something shoved him from behind, and Merry's arms flailed in the air. With a cry of surprise, Merry pitched forward and splashed into the water.

"Merry!" Sam shouted, about to rush over, but then he felt Frodo gripping onto his clothes as though his life depended on it.

"What's happening, Sam?" Frodo mumbled, pawing at the back of Sam's shirt with his free hand.

Sam froze, watching Merry struggle for a moment on the water's surface, then, with a futile sputtering of breath, Merry vanished beneath it.

Boromir was at the pool in seconds, straining to see through the disturbed muddy water. The surface calmed itself too quickly. It was as though nothing had even happened. _Merry who?_Boromir tossed off his sword and shield and jumped in.

Aragorn sprinted over just in time to see Boromir's head get swallowed up by the filthy water. He had been surveying the fog for enemies, for the further they went, the less he could see the path they left behind. Now he was angry at himself for not paying attention.

"Boromir!" He spoke too late. "What happened?" He cried, tossing his head about wildly at the other three Fellowship members.

Legolas turned to him slowly. "What do you mean?" He asked, his voice coagulated and lazy.

With a sickening feeling, Aragorn realized Legolas had been facing the wrong way the entire time.

"Merry fell in," Sam told him, finally catching up. Frodo peeped at Aragorn from around Sam's back like a shy toddler. "Boromir jumped in to get him."

"Can't Merry swim?" Aragorn demanded.

"I, I don't know," Sam said nervously. "I thought he could..."

They gathered quietly around the pool, and Aragorn breathlessly counts the seconds. _What's taking so long? _His thoughts were dominated by fear.

Frodo looked down into the water, and gasped. He saw something no one else could see. The ghostly-pale face of a dead Man, floating up to the surface, his eyes peeling apart with shockingly blank-white eyes. He threw himself back and thudded wetly to the ground, remaining seated as his body was overcome with shaking.

"Frodo?"

Sam started to turn, but then the water jolted up with a clashing spray. Boromir, gasping for breath, lifted Merry out of the water. Quickly Aragorn took Merry and set him on semi-solid ground, where he rolled onto his side and threw up. Boromir crawled on all-fours out of the pool, waving at Sam and Frodo to get back. They did. Aragorn crouched beside Merry and patted him on the back until he ceased vomitting.

Legolas handed Merry a piece of Lembas bread, but Merry shook his head so Legolas put it away.

"Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, though Merry was still violently convulsing.

"I..." Merry glanced around with wide eyes. "It felt like someone pushed me, I..."

"You lost your footing," Legolas said matter-of-factly. "You fell into the water."

Merry looked at him, eyes confused. "Yeah," he said at last, looking down.

Boromir shook his armor and scrubbed his hair with his fingers, trying to rid himself of the disgusting swamp water. He looked at Merry, studying him, making sure he was okay. Satisfied, he stood up straight and buckled his sword back at his hip, slinging strap of his shield over his shoulder.

Aragorn stood, his head feeling heavy. A wave of dizziness flushed behind his eyes with a sudden heat, then, just as quickly, faded away and was gone. He stood still for a moment, then sighed and helped Merry to his feet.

"We must keep moving," he said firmly. "Stay close together, do not go near the water."

The Hobbits stayed in a line with Aragorn right behind them. Now he was determined not to miss a thing. Legolas was in front of them, and Boromir, again, was leading.

Though the air was dank and putrid-smelling, it was also cold. Merry was wrapped in a blanket against the chill, his clothes still soaked, but Boromir could afford no such luxury.

What if something like that were to happen again? He did not want to fumble over a soggy blanket in a rush to help someone. He would rather pretend it didn't bother him and fight back the shivers. However, the mere thought of having the swamp water against his skin and in his hair sent a tremor into his lips.

There had been something else down there. It had its arm around Merry's neck, pulling him into oblivion. Boromir had opened his eyes beneath the murky water, but he had not been able to see much. But he had felt Merry's extended arms, his face, his hair. And he had also felt something else. Cold, hard. Skin like scales. And he had seen the dim glow of its deathly-white skin. Boromir had lost a knife to that creature, pushing it with tedious, underwater slow-motion into what he thought to be its head. Then he had snatched Merry and kicked off of the creature's rag-doll corpse and fought his way back to the surface. He had never been more grateful to breathe poisoned air.

So onwards they marched.


	47. Chapter 47

The mud sucked at his boots, making each step difficult and heavy. The cold air wafted into his face in wretched waves, carrying the scent of decay and illness. In futile protest, his nose ran thickly with snot. On top of all that, Aragorn's head was ablaze with an aching, persistent pounding that did not seem it had any intention of letting up. His eyes flicked wildly about. The fog was maddeningly dense; he could not tell if they were being followed. His insides were twisted into knots of apprehension.

As he surveyed the area, Aragorn looked over the tops of the Hobbit's heads and his eyes came to rest on Boromir. His heart immediately began thumping unsteadily, but a tranquil calm trickled down his neck and soaked into his shoulder blades. The hard, pinched line of his mouth relaxed into a tipsy smile. _Boromir, you daring fool, _he thought.

Merry held the blanket around himself, shuddering every so often against the cold. His eyes gazed mournfully down at the small bits of flame that marked some of the swamp pits as he shuffled past, desiring their warmth more than anything. He had not seen what had grabbed him beneath the waters. He told himself it had only been a patch of vines or swamp seaweed, if there was such a thing. Boromir just cut me free, Merry concluded. That's all.

Frodo rested his forehead against Sam's back, staring unseeingly at the ground. Mud, grass, and small stones squished and sprang up and got wedged between his toes and imbedded into the hair on his feet, but he did not care. He saw it happening, but he could not feel it. His fingers remained curled in the back waistband of Sam's pants, as if he would become hopelessly lost without him. He thought of Aragorn walking right behind him, his back vulnerable to him, exposed. He thought of Aragorn's words to him, the night of the Nazgul's attack. He had not apologized, or promised to be faithful. In fact, he hadn't even sworn to keep him safe. He had given Frodo absolutely no reason to trust him. All he had basically said was "take me or leave me," and Frodo had chosen the former. Was that a mistake? The Ring _was_ still hanging around his neck... He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, pushing his head harder into Sam's back. He wasn't sure.

Sam cut his eyes over his shoulder, as if by doing so he could see Frodo behind him. But he couldn't. He could only feel the odd pressure of his head against his back. Worry plagued him. He knew Frodo was suffering, more and more every day. It just didn't seem right. He sighed. But he also knew Frodo would not accept any help, not even from his old Sam.

Legolas forced himself to walk straight, to keep moving no matter what. Once we are through the Dead Marshes, all will be well, he thought. But his body was weak. His mouth tasted of bile, his tongue dry and thick. He could not see how much further they had to go, for the afternoon was passing, and the swamps were beginning to steam up even more. He glanced up at the sky, searching for a ray of true sunshine, but there was only thick, gray fog. Suddenly, Legolas stumbled on a root and fell, flinging out his arms just in time to catch himself. He turned his head to examine what had caused him to fall, and saw the skeletal arm of a human protruding from the soiled ground.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, his tone causing Boromir to turn.

Boromir quickly went back to help the Elf.

Aragorn stopped walking. He stood behind the Hobbits, who also paused to gawk.

"Are you alright, friend?" Boromir asked gently, hooking Legolas around the arm. Legolas stood slowly, leaning against Boromir more heavily than he realized.

"Be cautious," Legolas said loudly. "The dead reach out from the earth."

Merry immediately scanned the ground and gasped at the bones he discovered.

Frodo stirred behind him, but Sam reached over and patted the his head. "Don't worry, Mr Frodo," he said confidently. "No one's got any life left in 'em." Then he added, "I won't let you trip."

"Keep moving," Aragorn called, his headache drumming behind his eyes.

Boromir made sure Legolas could hold himself upright, then released him and continued walking. His skin felt as thought it were covered with thousands of tiny spiders, his swamp-soaked clothes drying ridiculously slow. He felt as though frostbite were settling inside of his bones, and it was a bitter, lonely feeling. He exhaled in a low huff and to his surprise, he could not see his breath.

...

Night crept over them silently, and Aragorn knew they had to find shelter. The eerie, flickering fire lights from the swamp were their only guide. That is, until Boromir jerked a wet log out of the mud and hacked it away till it was suitable for a torch.

Aragorn joined Boromir at the front on the procession, and together they searched for a place to stay the night. It did not take too long.

A couple hundred yards to their right, a huge tree laid, even its roots were resting on top of the earth. The tree was blackened with age and covered in a thick slime, but at its base where the roots spread apart was a hole wide enough to make a decent tent. Boromir went inside with the torch and made sure it was empty, kicking dead leaves and crumbled chunks of bark out as he exited. Using a spare Elven blanket, Aragorn fashioned a door between the roots so as to keep out the draft.

The Hobbits went inside. It was damp and quite chilly, but the Hobbits shook out their blankets and huddled together, the old tree sagging gently against their weight and, since the blanket-door kept out most of the foul breeze and the heavy, rotten fog, it could almost have been considered comfortable.

Legolas went in next, fumbling with the door as if it were a spider-web, although Boromir was holding the torch out so he could see. Legolas curled up beside the Hobbits and closed his eyes tight, his face remaining crinkled even after he fell asleep.

Aragorn lit a small fire to which Boromir provided the wood. They sat together, right outside the make-shift tent. The fire crackled and smoked and smelled like sweaty shoes, but it was warm and that was all that matter. The smoke filtered up into the fog and was swallowed without a trace.

They were quiet for a long while. The Hobbits snored in and out of sync, but it was not an unpleasant sound.

"I do not believe Legolas is well," Boromir said at last.

Aragorn tilted his head curiously at him, and Boromir met his gaze.

"Do you not? Why?"

Boromir looked over his shoulder at the hollowed tree, wary that the Elf might be listening, but he figured Legolas was passed out.

"Have you not noticed?" Boromir asked. "His skin has gone pale, his muscles tremble all the time. His eyes do not seem to be able to focus. I fear it is this place. The air is indeed foul. We should have sought another way to the Black Gates."

"It is too late for that," Aragorn told him bluntly. "There is no point in discussing what paths we should have chosen. We are here, and now all we must do is get out. By noon tomorrow, I sense we will be clear of these marshes."

"But what of Legolas?" Boromir insisted. "There must be something we can do for him-" He broke off with a violent spell of coughing. He covered his mouth with his hands to stifle the sound until his fit had passed. He shuddered involuntarily and wiped his mouth, looking at Aragorn shyly. "Forgive me," he muttered.

"Perhaps you, too, should retire inside," Aragorn said.

"You go," Boromir told him. "I will keep watch."

"Are you certain?"

Boromir looked at him, Aragorn's words a stab of guilt to his stomach as he recalled a couple days before when he had asked him that same question about whether or not to follow the fire lights around the swamp pits. He had not known how to answer, then, but this time, he knew.

"Yes," he said, nodding once sharply.

"Very well, then," Aragorn said, rising to his feet.

Boromir swallowed, eyes on Aragorn, feeling like he had just shrunk a foot or two into the ground.

"Rest well," Boromir said, keeping his tone light. He looked back at the fire as he heard Aragorn move off behind him, thinking he was going inside the tree. He stiffened as Aragorn's breath was suddenly on the back of his neck.

"Thank you," Aragorn whispered.

Boromir's neck tingled warmly and his mouth slipped open, wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say.

Aragorn kissed his cold, filthy, swamp-smelling neck, lingering only for an instant, then backed away and ducked inside the tent.

Boromir's body remained tense, trembling with barely restrained excitement, for almost an hour. Then, with the fire crumbling unattended at his feet, he slowly began to thaw.


	48. Chapter 48

Thunder rumbled low and long, frightening the ground and causing it to tremble. The skies were blacker than they had ever been, and in the distance flashes of lightning, Boromir could see that the clouds were swirling and gray and heavy with rain. The fog had lifted as the clouds had lowered, and now they melded together in a terrible swarm of electricity and dampness.

The tent-flap rustled behind him and Boromir turned around, already on his feet as he had been observing the sky. Aragorn stepped out to meet him. They turned and stared silently up at the sky, feeling the earth shudder underfoot at each angry roll of thunder.

"The storm is coming fast," Boromir said, licking his lips, eyes locked on the patch-lit clouds. "It will soon be upon us."

"Aye," Aragorn said quietly. He thought for a moment, then looked at Boromir. "What do you guess the hour?"

"Perhaps near dawn," Boromir replied. "That's what worries me. The sky is still so black."

"I do not believe our tree stump will offer much protection," Aragorn sighed, almost sarcastically.

A sharp snap of thunder smashed the air three feet from Boromir's face. He flinched and covered his ears instinctively, ducking his head down to his stomach. In the next moment, he recovered and straightened back up.

"I agree," he said bluntly.

Behind him, lightning shattered across the sky in hazy, zig-zag lines, exposing the nasty approaching clouds for only an instant.

Aragorn watched the lightning fade away before speaking again.

"We should leave."

...

The Hobbits and Elf were awakened quickly, and they rolled their blankets as they went.

"This is no storm of nature," Legolas said, his voice thin, yet forced to be loud. He squinted his eyes against the flares of lightning, hurrying after Aragorn.

Frodo, Sam, and Merry held hands and ran blindly in the dark, chasing after the bobbing fire of Boromir's new torch.

The wind began to moan, disturbing the surfaces of the swamp pits, spitting icy spray into the Fellowship's faces. All around them, the darkness seemed to congeal and close in, and both Boromir and Merry were bitterly reminded of being beneath the murky black water, seeing the light close over their heads as they sank deeper and deeper, dragged by the creature's frozen white claws.

No stars, no moon, no hint of dawn on the horizon. Just wicked shadows, displayed only when the lightning chose to flash. The wind grew stronger, began jerking on their clothes and pulling their hair, its freezing touch chilling their very hearts. In its violent spurts, every now and then the wind threatened to put out Boromir's torch. Yet onwards they ran through the night. The swamps went by in a rush, illuminated only briefly by Boromir's fire as he passed. The ground squished and splashed beneath their feet, but luckily no one slipped or fell.

Through the utter blackness ahead, Boromir thought he could see the sky beginning to lighten. A feeling of hope spread across his features, and he smiled. He slowed his pace, for the Hobbits were lagging behind. He glanced at them and decided to just stop walking altogether until they caught up.

Sam stumbled and snatched onto Merry to keep from falling, and Merry, gasping for breath, pushed Sam away so he could breathe. Frodo merely watched as the two of them bumped into each other and thudded to the wet ground.

Boromir helped them up wordlessly, looking passed them as Aragorn and Legolas came into view, their faces dark and eyeless until they came closer to the torch-light.

Just then, a light rain began to drop onto their heads and shoulders, clinking on their armor and thumping into the ground. The thunder growled like a beast in a cage, and lightning answered with equal rage.

"Dawn is on its way," Boromir told Aragorn to cheer him up, for the rain had turned his expression, as well as his hair, soggy. He pointed to prove his point, and Aragorn sighed.

At first, Boromir thought Aragorn had sighed out of disappointment, but when he spoke his tone was relieved.

"At least we did not get turned around in the dark." He smiled a winning smile, and Boromir thought for a moment that his heart had stopped. "You're a good leader, Boromir," Aragorn said seriously, clapping a wet hand down onto Boromir's hard, armored shoulder.

"Thank you," Boromir said, his chest swelling with joy.

"There seems to be a squirrel in my ear." Legolas clucked his tongue disapprovingly, digging his pinkie finger into his left ear.

Aragorn and Boromir frowned at him, confused by his words as well as his actions.

"It's just rain-water, Legolas," Merry told him. "Just shake your head like so." And he tilted his head to one side and shook it back and forth.

Legolas tried it, but the odd motion made him lose his balance. He landed on his side in the mud, the side of his face smacking into the nasty puddle. He laid there, stunned, eyes confused as if he did not understand where he was or how he got there.

Merry immediately felt guilty for making Legolas fall. He wanted to help somehow, but he knew he wasn't strong enough. He bit his lip and glanced at Aragorn instead.

"On your feet, Legolas," Aragorn said, reaching down to haul the Elf to his feet.

As Aragorn held him steady, Boromir came over with the torch and held the light near Legolas's face. Then, pulling down his shirt sleeve, Boromir gently wiped the filth from his cheek and lips.

Aragorn watched Boromir with a detached expression, yet his heart was beating like mad and his stomach jerked with a strange kind of jealousy.

Legolas muttered his thanks, his shoulders slumping. He was beginning to realize how far he had fallen from his sanity.

Lightning zapped a few feet away, throwing up lumps of earth, and the six members of the Fellowship all felt the hairs on their arms stiffen to attention, the currents leaving their skin with a distinct tingle.

Thunder moaned in its wake, and Boromir lifted his eyes to the dark sky. Just then, a drop of rain plopped down on his forehead and ran down his cheek like a tear. He licked his lips once the drop reached them, and the taste was bitter like rancid wine. Boromir looked at Aragorn to see if he'd noticed the sprinkles of rain, but Aragorn merely blinked at him.

Frodo felt a drop on the back of his hand, and quickly he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

Then, the clouds let go.

Startlingly cold and stinging to the eyes, the rain flushed down upon them in windless torrents. Boromir attempted to shield his torch from the rain, but it inevitably was put out, and darkness consumed them once more. All light seemed to have been engulfed by the storm. The flames marking the swamp pits remained lit despite the downpour, but they knew better than to trust such lights.

Luckily, dawn was still inching towards the horizon. The rain was unfathomably cold and since standing in once place was not an option, they began to run in their haste to greet the dawn.

...

They reached the edge of the Dead Marshes just as the sun reached mid-morning. The rain had not let up, but the clouds had lessened considerably and the sky was beginning to show traces of blue above the gray.

A small mountainside was there to offer shelter, and they took advantage of it.

Aragorn knew that the Black Gates were just on the other side of the cliff, but he and Boromir both checked for recent Orc activity, and there did not seem to have been any nearby. Still, they were not going to risk building a fire. Instead, they took off their clothes and spread them to dry on the gritty cave floor, bundling in what few spare clothes they had and wrapping themselves in blankets.

The rain drummed overhead and pounded the stone at the mouth of the cave. A low dripping sound could be heard from deep within the cave, echoing drearily against the cold rock walls.

The Hobbits were exhausted. What, with travelling on foot for days across a miserable swamp, barely getting any sleep, eating next to nothing, and being cold all the time, they had every right to be. Right now, they sat together in a tight line, shoulders draped with blankets, blowing and rubbing their hands.

But Aragorn was anxious. His body was rigid with goosebumps. He stuffed his numb fingers under his armpits and stood leaning against a wall, watching everyone. They were too close to Mordor, now. Too close to success, and also to failure. If Frodo was unable to recover in reasonable time, a patrol could come by and discover them. What then? They would fight, naturally, but with Sauron's forces massed by the thousands behind the Gates, they would easily be overtaken before they could fight their way to escape. Frustrated, he scrubbed the back of his head into the wall by twisting it back and forth. It hurt a bit, but he kind of enjoyed it.

"Aragorn," Legolas said, walking over to him and touching him on the arm with one, slender finger.

"Yes?" Aragorn opened his eyes.

"Aragorn." Legolas poked him again.

_"Yes? _What is it?" Aragorn asked, his tone short.

"The storm continues to rage," Legolas told him.

"Yes, it does." Aragorn flicked his eyes to the cave's entrance, noting the sheets of rain beating down before it. Some of the rain-water was slipping inside, but everyone was situated so that it would not reach them any time soon.

"Yes, it does," Legolas repeated, his eyes blank. "I should not tarry here any longer. Lord Elrond would delight in hearing such news from you. I must tell him at once."

Legolas turned away as if to leave, but Aragorn caught him sharply by the arm and pulled him back so that they were facing each other once more.

"What are you talking about?" Aragorn demanded. He was upset by Legolas's behavior, and he hoped that by being forceful it would shock him into reality.

But Legolas simply rolled his eyes back and collapsed into unconsciousness, slipping from Aragorn's grasp like a freshly caught fish.

Boromir came over as Aragorn was checking Legolas's temperature, his palm flat against his forehead.

"Is he alright?" Boromir asked gently, feeling awkward standing there, but not wanting to kneel uncalled for beside Aragorn.

"He was talking nonsense," Aragorn said with a sigh. "His fever must've caused him to faint."

"Fever?" Boromir swallowed. "Is it bad?"

"I cannot be certain," Aragorn lifted his hand from the Elf's head. "My hands are so cold, probably a block of ice would feel warm to me."

"Allow me," Boromir said, a stroke of bravery prodding him forward. He knelt beside Aragorn, who slid back a little.

Aragorn expected Boromir to feel Legolas's forehead, but instead, he took Aragorn's right hand in his. Boromir's hands were so cold that Aragorn almost jerked away from his touch, but then he understood what Boromir was trying to do as he looked into his eyes.

But Boromir was not looking at him. He held Aragorn's hand carefully, yet firmly, rubbing it between his palms. His gaze was intense, focused on his meek task.

Friction was formed and Aragorn's skin gradually grew warm, but it was not enough to heat the blood. Boromir lowered his lips and took a slow breath, then breathed out onto their hands. His mouth was cold, his teeth brushing like ice against Aragorn's wrist, but the steam he exhaled was warm and tinted with moisture. Aragorn felt a creeping shudder itch up and down his back, and a different kind of heat began to form in his crotch.

Suddenly Aragorn's heart started spasming with panic_. What if someone else sees us? _He thought wildly._ But_ _he's just rubbing my hand, _he's just rubbing my _hand, _he's just rubbing my _hand,_ he tried to tell himself, but he could feel an errection forming nonetheless, and he was afraid of being caught.

"Thank you, Boromir," he blurted out abruptly, pushing the Man away.

Boromir was thrown off balance and he fell onto his side. He straightened up quickly and kept his face turned away from Aragorn, a hot blush flushing his features. He, too, had been getting a sick pleasure from this, though he did not know that Aragorn had.

Aragorn had almost forgotten what he'd been doing, but then he saw Legolas lying like a rug in front of him, his mouth slightly open, his eyelids crooked with their dazed unconsciousness, and another wave of embarressment broke over him in a sweat. He shook his head in astonishment and quickly placed his now-warm palm on Legolas's temple. He no longer felt as though he had a fever, but Aragorn thought perhaps his hand was just too hot, now. He gritted his teeth and glanced at Boromir, but Boromir had snuck away.

Aragorn found a blanket for Legolas and covered him up, shivering as he did so, but not from the cold.


	49. Chapter 49

It was with a solemn feeling that the members of the Fellowship passed out dried strips of meat that had been in Gimli's pack. But the meat was hearty and their mouths watered with the peppery smell, so they ate and were decently satisfied.

Legolas, of course, did not eat the meat. He was still feeling warbly and off-balance since he had fainted, and his stomach did not ask for food. However, upon Aragorn's insistence, he found a small chunk of Lembas bread and took an infantile bite.

Frodo had his knees tucked up to his chest, gnawing quietly on a piece of dried meat. Sam and Merry were on either side of him, their shoulders pressed together to dispel their shivering and preserve heat, but Frodo didn't seem to notice them. He stared down at his feet, the Ring hanging warmly beneath his shirt, the gold touching his pale, bare chest. Mud was caked between his toes and crusted over his nails. They bore an awful smell, tainted with the putridity of the dead.

Holding his hands out into the freezing rain, Boromir filled his palms with water, then stepped back and scrubbed his face to rid himself of the dirt. The shock of the water against his face sucked the breath from his lungs, but he kept doing it until he felt clean, shaking his head like a dog to fling to excess from his hair. A chill trickled down his back and he shuddered, retreating to the center of the cave away from the misty spray that rushed in the cave's mouth whenever the wind blew toward them. He felt eyes on him and turned his head, seeing Aragorn.

"Have you eaten?" Aragorn asked him from across the cave, not bothering to approach him. The cave was not so big. Aragorn leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Boromir.

"Yes, thank you." Boromir answered, his voice a tad too loud. He hesitated, then walked over. "Have you?"

"Nay, I had hoped perhaps you would feed me." Aragorn's eyes were serious and intense.

Boromir's heart flipped into his stomach. "Truely?" He asked, embarressed and thrilled at the same time. "I will, gladly, if you ask it of me."

Boromir pictured Aragorn lying across a white feather bed wearing nothing but a gorgeous smile, sunlight bathing him in golden rays, his arm stretched above his head, his ribs vulnerably exposed below his armpit, with Boromir on his knees beside the bed, carefully placing ripe, red strawberries into his waiting mouth. Boromir took a shaky breath, waiting for Aragorn's response.

"What?" Aragorn asked, his face crinkling with confusion.

Boromir blinked.

"What do you mean?" Aragorn pressed, staring at Boromir.

"What?" Boromir forced out, the word quivering as it left his lips.

"I said I had hoped our food would last until we made it back to Rivendell," Aragorn repeated tiredly.

"Oh." Boromir fought to suppress a blush. "Forgive me, I misheard you."

Aragorn gave him a dismissive wave. "No matter."

They were silent.

Outside, the clouds continued to weep upon the earth. But the clouds were thinning out, and more and more blue sky was showing every minute.

"How are we going to do this?" Boromir asked after awhile.

Aragorn did not need to ask what he was talking about.

"We'll sneak inside, find a hidden entrance. There has to be one," he said dryly.

"What if there isn't?" Boromir said.

Aragorn stiffened. "There is," he said, his tone finalizing.

Boromir turned his eyes to the floor, then stepped up and turned, leaning his back into the wall as Aragorn was doing.

Aragorn was suddenly struck with the notion that he was the older brother and Boromir, the younger brother, was mimicking him. He kept himself from smiling, a warmth sizzling on the back of his neck. He tossed his arm easily over Boromir's shoulder.

Boromir shyly tilted his head forward to look at Aragorn, and they grinned at each other.

...

They said they were scouting. They said they'd be right back. They promised to be careful.

A hundred feet from the cave, further along the cliff side, there was another cave. It was more narrow, went deeper, and was littered with old bones like the den of a wild cat. It was empty, though, and far enough away from the other cave that they could disappear in it for as long as they wanted.

Boromir and Aragorn faced each other in the dim, damp cave. Their hearts racing, their thoughts a blur, the wind wailed into the cave's mouth, the rain beating down and erasing all other sounds.

Heat like fire spread forth from their groins and in the next moment they were upon each other, snatching at the other's clothes and pulling them away. Soon they were naked and goosebumps flecked all over their bodies.

Aragorn made the first move, stepping up to Boromir and seizing him by the hair, twisting his face into his, their mouths connecting wetly with passion. Boromir shoved his manhood into Aragorn's, and they moaned simultaneously, pleasure surging within them.

Aragorn wrapped his arms around Boromir's hairy back and held him close, kissing and biting at his lips. Boromir's eyes rolled with rapturous delight, and he rocked his hips back and forth, his pubic hairs mingling with and scratching against Aragorn's. Their quickly-swelling penises rubbed into each other, heightening their pleasure.

Boromir's arms traced up Aragorn's hips and backbone, feeling the warm scars and indentations of multiple skirmishes. He turned his mouth away from Aragorn's and pressed his tongue into the soft hollow of his throat, tasting sweat and dirt, and he kissed at the tender flesh, keeping Aragorn tight against him with his strong arms.

All of a sudden, Boromir had a flashback of all the times Aragorn had hurt him while supposably being under the Ring's influence. Aragorn now remember everything he had done, but had he offered Boromir an apology? Anger boiled behind his eyes, and he ground his teeth together and shoved Aragorn away.

Aragorn stumbled back, panting, surprised. He walked back up to Boromir. "What's wro-"

Boromir swung a fist and punched Aragorn in the mouth as hard as he could.

Aragorn collapsed to the hard stone ground, gasping, instantly sputtering blood. He raised a trembling hand to touch his lips, and felt the warm wetness of his blood. He levelled a glare at Boromir, standing back up.

"That's for everything you did to me," Boromir snarled.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and spat deliberately at Boromir's feet.

His hand still aching from his strike, Boromir rushed at Aragorn again, was delighted by his fearful recoil, and snatched him up in a furious embrace. Boromir pinned him up against the jagged wall and devoured his face with licking, sucking, teasing kisses. He could taste Aragorn's slick, irony blood on his tongue. With one hand, he held Aragorn to the wall, and the other hand dropped down to Aragorn's crotch and took hold of his penis.

Aragorn moaned in protest, but Boromir silenced him by enveloping his lips with his own.

He massaged Aragorn's penis in his hand, slowly, then gained speed, feeling it swell hotly beneath his twitching fingers. He released Aragorn from the wall and knelt, taking his dick in his mouth. He pushed his face forward until Aragorn's entire length was in his mouth. It nearly gagged him, but Boromir was determined to prove something, both to himself and to Aragorn, though he was not quite sure what. He sucked on Aragorn's penis, sliding his head back and forth, and Aragorn clutched onto the wall behind him, groaning, squirming uneasily.

Aragorn was thick and ribbed with veins against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and he began to taste his release, dribbling down the back of his throat. He pulled his lips away and swallowed, letting Aragorn's member hang before his face. He could almost see it throbbing with desire.

Boromir turned away on his knees and held his bottom in the air. "Put it inside me," he told Aragorn, his excitement evident in his trembling voice.

"No," Aragorn said after but a moment's hesitation. "Put yours in me."

Boromir stood and turned to Aragorn, his eyes wide as if he had just been stabbed in the gut.

Aragorn spun around and faced the cave wall, reaching his arms up to grab onto jagged bits of rock for support. He spread his legs slightly, his knees bent just a tad, his bare toes curling into the gritty floor. His penis hung between his legs, standing out almost completely straight so that its very tip brushed against the wall. Aragorn closed his eyes, pushing his nose against the cold stone.

Boromir scanned Aragorn's features. His face to the wall, his hair hanging down over the back of his stiff neck. His broad shoulders tapered down to a muscular lower back, his hip bones pronounced and firm. His bottom was pale and bare, but his thighs erupted in thick patches of hair that followed his feet down to the floor. He appeared to be shaking.

Boromir went to him and carefully held his penis in his hand. He touched Aragorn's smooth bottom and felt him flex against his cold fingers. Boromir leaned down and kissed Aragorn's soft, meaty cheek.

"If I hurt you," he whispered, his lips still pressed into Aragorn. "Tell me, and I'll stop."

Aragorn didn't answer.

Using his left hand, he parted Aragorn's buttocks. Boromir wet his right index finger with his mouth and lubricated Aragorn's anus, being as gentle as possibly, knowing he had never experienced this before. He spat into his hand and wiped it over his penis, and soon he thought he was fully prepared.

Boromir guided his dick to the other Man's hole and pressed the tip against it. Aragorn remained stiff, unrelenting, unable to help it. Boromir added a little more saliva to his penis and tried again. This time, he slid inside a couple inches.

Aragorn made a funny sound, twisting his hips to the side, but he did not tell Boromir to stop. His knuckles were stark-white against the wall, his knees locked desperately into place.

Boromir could not breathe, but it also did not feel as if he needed to. He was high on adrenaline. He let go of his penis and put his hands on Aragorn's hips, rubbing the skin lightly between his thumbs. His penis stayed inside of Aragorn, and he gradually thrust his hips forward, pushing himself in deeper.

Aragorn's breath came out in a hiss between his teeth, and he punched the flat of his fist into the wall, then fell silent and still.

Boromir was heartened by this. He had been afraid that Aragorn was going to tell him to quit, but he didn't and he was glad. It felt amazing to be inside of him like this, to have him thus violated and exposed, laid waste before him like a hapless prisoner of war.

He drew himself back, then pushed forth again. Soon the resistance let up, and it was easier to glide within him. He began thrusting faster and faster, his penis screaming with joy inside of Aragorn, who let out low wails of pain and pleasure. Their bodies heated up beyond comprehension, but the coolness of the cave helped to hold back their releases.

Boromir panted onto Aragorn's back, a thin, raspy sound, riddled with tears and slobber. His arms tucked around Aragorn's stomach and clung there, holding fast, as he bucked inside of him.

Aragorn wept as well. At first it had been silent tears, but now they ran down his cheeks in slimy ribbons and sobs fell from his lips mixed with the grunts and cries of his pulsing, new-found pleasure.

Soon Boromir could hold back no more, and his climax was reached. His penis erupted with a hot gush inside of Aragorn, who was so startled and pleased by the sensation, that he, too, reached his extent and came as well, splattering the wall in front of him.

Boromir withdrew and slumped to the ground, shuddering with the after-effects of his release. His body cooled quickly and he sat there, breathing rapidly through his mouth as the sweat dried into his bare skin.

Aragorn turned away from the wall and slumped down beside Boromir, resting his forehead on his shoulder, panting hotly on his skin.

Boromir tilted his face and kissed Aragorn on his dirty hair, wrapping his arm around him. Aragorn shook his head, which was still on Boromir's shoulder, as if in disbelief. Tears fell from his face and slipped over Boromir's chest.

Neither of them could speak.


	50. Chapter 50

A haze snaked through Frodo's mind, dark and tingling, at first arousing curiosity within him, then startling him with fear. His blood-blue eyes flew open and he shoved Merry and Sam away with a gasp.

"What is it, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, holding himself up with one arm awkardly, staying where he had been pushed like an uncertain dog.

"We're not alone," he said in a low voice. Frodo's pale face tightened with apprehension, staring at the mouth of the cave. His fingers pawed at the Ring through his shirt.

Legolas stood sharply and pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked his bow, feeling at once the oppressiveness that Frodo felt.

A growling hiss of rage rumbled along with the thunder, then a spray of water burst through the cave as a creature threw itself inside. It charged on all-fours, lumbering like a wild cat, straight at Frodo. An ear-piercing screech left its gaping mouth, exposing viciously pointed teeth.

_"Precious!"_ The creature wailed.

"Frodo!" Merry threw himself in front of Frodo, shoving him back. "Get back!"

Sam hollered, drawing his sword and swinging it like mad at the thing, but it didn't slow down until it was struck in the ribs with an arrow. The gollum pitched to the side with a howl, thrashing its limbs with anguish.

_"Give us the precious!" _

Sam hesitated only for an instant before pouncing on the beast and punching him in the mouth with his sword hilt.

"Sam!" Merry cried. "Stop it!"

"It's that gollum Gandalf warned us about!" Sam snapped.

Frowning, Merry took a deep breath to argue, but Legolas appeared between them.

"Let it be, Sam," Legolas said coolly.

Sam got off with a grunt, and Legolas knelt down beside the gollum and held a dagger at his neck.

The poor creature writhed with pain but kept his head still. He was no fool when it came to blades at the throat. No, precious, not a fool. His massive blue eyes narrowed at Legolas, the one who had shot him.

Legolas was pleased with himself. He had struck Gollum right where he had meant to; between his ribs in such a way that the lungs were not pierced. He reached down and pulled the arrow straight out of his flesh.

Gollum threw back his head, pounding it over and over into the stone ground, hissing open-mouthed with pain. Blood dribbled from the slight hole in his side and spread out across the ground, engulfing the tracks of water.

Legolas thought it might do him some good to bleed out a little bit, and made no attempt to bandage him.

"Why did you attack us?" He asked.

"Attacks, no, precious. We don't attacks. We have no weaponses," Gollum told him, rolling his eyes and slobbering, licking his thin lips.

"Why did you come in here?" Legolas pressed.

"Rains, rains. Much too cold to be outside." Gollum tucked up his knees and lowered them again, unable to keep entirely still.

"Quit with your lying!" Sam stomped his foot. "We all saw what you did!"

Gollum glared at Sam from the corner of his eye. Careful, precious, he thought twitchily. We will gets him in time.

Frodo stayed at a distance, arms tightly crossed over his chest, over the Ring. He knew what the creature was after. He was after the only thing in this world actually _worth_ going after. But he can't have it, Frodo reminded himself. It's mine.

"What should we do with him?" Merry asked, looking at Legolas.

"We'll wait for Aragorn," Legolas answered instantly. "Find some rope. We'll tie him up until they get back."

Gollum feigned a serious injury, wimpering and moving slowly as Legolas sat up him and held him by the shoulders.

"It hurts us," Gollum moaned, but the Elf ignored him.

Merry searched through packs to find some rope, and Sam stood guard like a statuesque solider. Frodo may as well have been one of the stones in the wall, blank-faced and equally as cold, his eyes rimmed with gray.

Merry hustled back over and dropped to his knees behind Gollum, readying the rope to bind his wrists. But right at that moment, Gollum jerked his head to the right and planted his wet mouth down onto Legolas's arm, crunching down hard with his yellow teeth.

"Hey!" Sam scolded.

Legolas flinched, his grip loosening momentarily. Gollum threw himself out from under his hands and rolled out of his reach, cackling and spitting Elf-blood. Merry fell forward trying to catch onto the creature's bony leg, but he was too quick. Gollum ran to the cave entrance and dove out of it, vanishing behind a curtain of falling water drops.

Merry stood up slowly, dumbstruck. He looked down at Legolas.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

Legolas looked at the odd bloody circle that spread out right above his wrist. "It's just a small bite," Legolas replied thinly.

"Well, maybe he'll bleed to death out there," Sam said grouchily.

"I'm afraid he won't," Legolas sighed. "I only wounded him, as I intended. He will survive."

"Then he'll be back," Merry said unhappily.

Exhaustion washed over Legolas, as if by being bitten by the gollum he was injected with some kind of poison. A numbness crept through his muscles, making him feel weak. He stared at his blood as it dripped from his arm as if watching something beautiful and astounding, like a rainbow forming in the rays of the sun.

A moment of silence passed in which they all took a deep breath.

Sitting in a slump, Legolas began to close his eyes rather than blink. At last, Sam let his gaze leave the mouth of the cave.

"Frodo?"

Sam and Merry looked at Frodo, but he still hadnt moved.

...

They dressed in giddy lovers' silence, grinning at each other whenever their eyes met.

Boromir commented how Aragorn's nipples were as hard as a woman's, for now that their sex rush had faded, the chill of the cave was maddeningly dominating.

When Boromir made that comment, he had been sitting on the floor pulling on his boots, shirtless as well as Aragorn, who had just finished tying up his pants.

Instead of getting embarressed, Aragorn laughed. He towered over Boromir for a moment before dropping down, straddling him, his knees on either side of Boromir's thighs.

Aragorn leaned in close to Boromir, both their hearts racing with nervous excitement.

"Yours are, too," Aragorn said seductively, his breath warm on Boromir's bare chest. Aragorn pressed his lips into Boromir's left breast and began licking and sucking at the nipple.

As hot as it was to have Aragorn mounting him in this manner, Boromir knew they had to get back to the Fellowship.

"Aragorn," he began, placing his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "We have to get back." His words faded, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as Aragorn rocked his hips downwards into Boromir's manhood.

Aragorn's tongue was teasingly warm. Whenever he trailed away from the nipple, the saliva would cool instantly, leaving Boromir with a cold patch of skin and a desire to be licked some more.

A soft groan left his mouth, letting it hang open, and suddenly Aragorn's tongue had invaded it. Boromir opened his eyes and saw Aragorn staring right back at him. They kissed furiously on the lips, sucking and licking at each other until they were sweating and out of breath.

Boromir finally applied pressure to Aragorn's shoulder, for his hand had never left it. He pushed him away, shuddering, his beard glistening with a mixture of both of their spittle.

"The Hobbits," he forced out.

"Of course," Aragorn said tonelessly.

He rose up off of Boromir, then took Boromir's hand and hauled him to his feet as well. They finished dressing, then strode without complaint out into the icy rain.


	51. Chapter 51

A clap of thunder shook the ground. The rain had begun to let up, though that did not weaken its determinedly cold temperature. The skies remained a dull gray expanse, brought to life with odd jitters of lightning. The rockface was slick with mold. Borormir and Aragorn made their way carefully. They kept their eyes up and on the cave in the distance, the one that held the rest of the Fellowship.

Aragorn stepped down on a loose stone that shifted under his weight, and he tilted dangerously forward, swinging his arms to keep his balance. Boromir seized him from behind and held him steady until Aragorn was able to regain his footing. Aragorn patted his shoulder in thanks. Boromir nodded humbly, then froze. He stared passed Aragorn intently.

"Is that...?" He began, pointing.

Aragorn turned, shielding his eyes from the rain with his hand.

Barely distinguishable through the steaming rain and the glistening, reflecting wet stones, something spider-like and sand-colored retreated down from the Fellowship's cave.

"Gollum," Aragorn said instantly.

Boromir drew his sword. Swiftly, yet with such praticed ease that the blade made no sound against the hilt.

"What was it doing?" Boromir could not help but ask.

"Let's find out."

Aragorn likewise drew his sword, and he and Boromir began trotting along the edge of the cliff, gradually gaining ground on the filthy creature. Their clothes were quickly soaked once more. The weight of the water threatened to pull them to their knees. A hiss of wind threw the raindrops in their faces, stinging their noses as they went. Boromir struck out ahead, finding a decent path. Aragorn quickly followed.

Just below the mouth of the Fellowship's cave, the path sloped downwards and became more jagged. Boromir stood there, panting from the climb, and began to despair. There were too many shadows, too many hiding places. The gollum was no where to be found. Aragorn joined him on the slight ledge and peered out into the drizzle.

"I can't-"

"Shh," Aragorn hushed, gesturing for him to be quiet.

Boromir looked at Aragorn, who very slowly extended his finger.

"There," he whispered.

One-hundred yards away, Gollum sat beneath a dead bush, hugging himself and rocking side to side. Faintly, the two Men could hear him sniffling.

Boromir swallowed and lifted his sword purposefully, blinking rain water from his eyes.

"I will go around wide to the front of him, you stay to the left," Aragorn said in a low voice. "Keep him up against the rock."

Boromir nodded, not taking his eyes off the creature.

Aragorn slipped down from the rock without another word. Boromir hurried after him. They circled Gollum stealthily, each honoring their skills as Ranger and Commander.

Boromir sensed that Aragorn was too close, that the gollum would see him before he could get in a position to attack. But Boromir was ready. He believed that if he did not break rank and seize this opportunity, Gollum would see them and flee.

With a fleeting glance at his Lord, Boromir threw himself off the rock on which he stood and tackled Gollum, snapping the brittle wet branches of the bush that had concealed him. Gollum screamed. Aragorn stumbled with surprise and hurried back up the rocks to help Boromir, who clamped his hand over Gollum's mouth.

Gollum writhed and kicked and scratched, digging thick, over-grown, dirty claws into Boromir's face and neck. The Man held fast, his arms tight and constricting over Gollum's grotesquely thin body. He could feel the creature's hot tongue in the palm of his hand, followed by prickling teeth. Gollum was trying to bite him, but Boromir's hand was too hard-pressed against his mouth.

Aragorn gave Boromir an almost angry look, but said nothing as he came over and helped restrain him.

"We ought to kill it," Boromir said, his voice strained. "Such a wicked thing should not be allowed to walk this earth."

"It is not his fault," Aragorn said dismissively.

Boromir was stung by Aragorn's words. It seemed like Aragorn was suggesting that Boromir was also a hideous gollum, that he was equally as repulsive.

"Uncover his mouth," Aragorn commanded. He levelled his sword at Gollum's neck, and in response the creature held still.

Boromir lifted his hand.

"What were you doing in that cave?" Aragorn asked.

Gollum squirmed, breathing heavily, his eyes wide. "The Elf one shot us, he did. Nasty Orcses. They hurts us for getting out of the rains. Poor precious." He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face into Boromir's arm as if scratching his nose.

"Is he wounded?" Aragorn asked Boromir.

Boromir hesitated, glancing at the thing in his arms. "I cannot tell..."

"Get him up." Aragorn stood. "We'll take him back to the others."

Boromir carried Gollum and Aragorn led the way back to the Fellowship's cave.

...

After a brief interrogation, the gollum was tied up and placed under Boromir's charge in the far corner of the cave. Boromir stood stoicly in front of him, glaring down with utter loathing and distrust for the poor soul.

"Men are sneaks, precious." Gollum spat. "They sneaks from the others into dark holes in the mountain."

A cold sweat poked into Boromir's spine. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone was listening, but they did not appear to be.

"They rides each other like horses."

"Shut it," Boromir ordered, pointing his sword at Gollum. It was all he could do to keep the blade from running straight through him.

The yellow-toothed creature grinned.

Aragorn tended to the bite mark on Legolas's arm, and all the while Legolas sang a song of which he could not deduce the language.

Frodo sat against the wall opposite of Gollum, staring unblinkingly at him through between Boromir's legs.

Sam huffed and plopped down beside Frodo, muttering, "I don't see why they haven't just slit the bugger's throat. All he's got to do is holler real good and then the Enemy will find us."

Sam glanced at Frodo, but Frodo gave no indication that he was listening to him. He looked across the cave at Gollum and snarled with distaste. "Now, if he keeps lookin' at you like that, I'm gonna go over there and kill him myself."

"He doesn't mean to hurt us, Sam," Frodo said quietly. "It's the Ring. It's tormenting him."

Sam looked at Frodo again. There was a deep sadness in his voice that made Samwise come close to tears. But Frodo's face was locked into expressionlessness. It betrayed no emotion. Sam's shoulders slumped. _I know, Mr. Frodo,_ he thought pityingly. I know it's hurting you. He put his arm around Frodo's cold back and hugged him.

Merry stood near the mouth of the cave, gazing out. A slow breeze was pushing its way passed, dragging the clouds across the sky and taking the rain with them. At the sight of the low afternoon sun, Merry's heart lifted.

"The rain's stopped!" He exclaimed. He turned to face the others, who were now staring at him. "Aragorn, did you find a way through?"

Boromir's eyes were wild when they met Aragorn's, his heart pounding like mad, his wet hair stuck in dark clumps against his forehead. He was afraid that as soon as Aragorn made something up, the gollum would chime in and tell everyone what they had really been doing.

Aragorn was somewhat disturbed to see him like that, to see him cracking so easily. He cleared his throat.

"Not quite, Merry," he answered informatively. "There's another cave not too far from here, but it doesn't tunnel through the cliff. The rocks become much more treacherous further on, and with all the rain they are quite slick."

"Rain may fall and wind may blow, and many miles be still to go," Legolas sang wistfully, patting Aragorn drunkishly on the knee.

Aragorn frowned at Legolas and got up, stepping out of his reach. Legolas continued to pat the air, not seeming to notice that he was no longer touching anything.

"So what do we do?" Merry asked with an obvious decrease in enthusiasm.

Aragorn looked at Gollum. "Do you know how to get passed the Black Gates?"

Gollum nodded.

"Then you will guide us."

"You can't be serious!" Sam stood up indignantly.

"Aragorn," Boromir said. "This _thing _cannot be trusted. He will lead us straight into Sauron's hands."

"He would not risk the Ring being taken from him," Aragorn said shortly.

"But you cannot be certain of that!" Boromir cried. "He may even be one of-"

"Have you any other plans?" Aragorn interrupted heatedly.

Boromir stiffened.

"It is not safe for us to delay here any longer," Aragorn told everyone. "Now I don't see where we have much choice here. If we strike out on our own, we may get caught by a patrol. At least with Gollum we have more of a chance. He has followed us this far without being detected, so he may be useful to us. Are we in agreement?"

Boromir looked down at the gollum at his feet and it took an insane amount of effort for him not to kick him right in his grinning teeth.

"Yes, precious," he cooed.

Boromir set his jaw. He looked at Aragorn. Though he hated the stinking sack of bones that sat spitting onto the stone floor and popping the tiny bubbles with grubby fingertips, and distrusted him with every burning fiber in his body, he adored Aragorn. Though... he felt like he was being punished, that even Aragorn would have preferred slicing open the vermin's throat and finding their own way to Mount Doom. But since Boromir had disregarded Aragorn's plan when it came to capturing the gollum, Boromir now had the displeasure of keeping him in his sights as a reminder of his fault.

"Yes," Boromir agreed.

"Legolas?" Aragorn looked at the Elf, who slowly raised his head to meet Aragorn's gaze.

"Gollum is a creature of shadow and haze. I agree that he is our only option at this point, but he will guide us to our doom unless we stay one step ahead of him."

Aragorn suppressed his shock at Legolas's cognitive answer. He nodded and looked at the Hobbits.

"What say you, Frodo?" He asked.

"Yes," Frodo replied.

"I just don't trust him," Sam said grumpily.

"If there's no other option," Merry shrugged. "Then there's no other option."

"Good." Aragorn scanned the cave. "Gather your things. We leave at once."


	52. Chapter 52

_"Wait."_

Borormir caught Aragorn by the arm. Aragorn turned to him with irritation.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Look around. You must know your plan is unwise."

"Boromir," Aragorn said with a sigh. "You just agreed to it. No more discussion." He shook away from Boromir's touch. "Now is a good time to depart: The shadows will conceal us."

"Aragorn!" Boromir hissed, stepping closer to him so the others would not hear.

Aragorn's dark brown eyes cut to meet Boromir's, relenting to listen.

"The Elf is unwell," Boromir told him quickly. "The fumes of the dead are sickening him, and the gollum's bite has only worsened his condition."

As Boromir spoke, Aragorn let his eyes drift to Legolas. The Prince of Mirkwood had removed the bandage from his wrist and was holding the bloodied cloth against his lips, his eyes fluttering.

"Bites? No, precious, we don't bites." Gollum was ignored.

"Think of Frodo as well," Boromir begged. "Having this creature with us will only cause him to suffer, for he will see the gollum as a reflection of himself. His spirit is already broken. You must see that."

Aragorn's expression turned weary. He leveled tired eyes at Boromir, who continued to speak.

"And what of Merry?" Boromir asked, tears rimming his eyelashes. "He has borne the loss of Pippin, his dearest friend, at such a young age, and we all have lost Gimli. What would another loss do to _his _spirit? And what would Sam do if Frodo were to turn heed the gollum's influence and turn against us? That thing-" Boromir pointed an angry finger at Gollum, who snarled his teeth. "Is nothing but a plague. He will poison us all to madness."

Boromir's heart pumped rapidly, his chest rising and falling dramatically at each trembling breath.

"No, Men lies! We helps you, precious. We helps get you over the Black Gateses!" Gollum insisted, but Boromir silenced him with a swift kick.

Aragorn dropped his face into his hands with a long sigh.

Boromir could see as Aragorn's head hung down that his neck was covered in goose bumps. Although they both were still quite wet from the rain, Boromir no longer felt its chill. But as he stared, he could tell Aragorn was shivering.

"You're cold, brother," Boromir said gently. He placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "We are in a safe place. You need not make a decision now. Let us dry you off, then we can discuss our plan."

Aragorn nodded.

...

Boromir lit a small fire. He had gone back to the other cave and found dry twigs and cloth that had been among the bones and rubble. It had not birthed a very grand fire, but it was warm and it would last for almost ten minutes.

Aragorn, shirtless but draped with a blanket, leaned his chest over the fire. He sat cross-legged, his boots sitting beside him to dry. He shivered violently, as if the fire was chilling him further rather than thawing him. He closed his eyes against the convulsions that shook him, trying to hold still.

Watching him from a slight distance, Boromir grew uneasy. He knelt beside Aragorn and, rolling back his shirt sleeve, pressed his wrist onto Aragorn's forehead, feeling for his temperature. He had a fever.

A waterfall of depression crushed Boromir. Everyone was growing ill. _Curse this place_, he thought hatefully. He lovingly brushed Aragorn's hair from his face with careful fingers, then let his hand drop away and sat down beside him.

Aragorn blinked at him slowly. "This fire is a waste," he said sourly, flicking his head back to the meager flames. "A ghost fire. You mock my cold by giving me a fire without warmth." He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Forgive me," Boromir said quietly. "There was no more tinder to be found. All is drenched outside." He raised his eyes to check on Gollum. The creature was lying on his side a few feet away, rocking back and forth slowly, moaning beneath the excessively tight binds.

"Get rid of it, Boromir," Aragorn said suddenly.

"The fire?"

"Gollum." He looked at Boromir now with understanding. "Kill it and get rid of the body. Stash it in that other cave, cover it with dirt and rocks. But do not let him scream."

Boromir stood up. "As you say, it shall be done." He said proudly, gazing down at Aragorn. But Aragorn made no further comment, dragging his head once more to face the sputtering ashes of the useless fire.

Snatching the rope that hung around Gollum's neck, Boromir jerked it and said "Come on," and Gollum awkwardly got to his feet.

"The rope burns us," Gollum whimpered. "Cuts like thorns, stupid Men, it chokes us!" He coughed helplessly, reaching for his neck in vain for his wrists were bound to his ankles.

"Be quiet, or you will lose your tongue," Boromir warned darkly.

The Elf and Hobbits watched Boromir lead Gollum out of the cave without a word. As he stepped outside, the departing sun cast him alive with golden and bloodied rays. He tugged the gollum down the slope and vanished from their sight.

Aragorn looked up in time to see that no one was there, only a thin curling of smoke.


	53. Chapter 53

He knew where he was being led. It was no so hard to deduce. The rocks were slick from the rain and they reflected the sunlight with brilliant colors, but Gollum didn't notice their beauty. He stumbled from his binds and his bony knee jammed against a sharp stone. He howled in anguish.

Boromir whirled, slapping a hand over Gollum's mouth.

"Shh!" He ordered. "Do you _want _the Enemy to find you?"

Gollum mumbled something unintelligible, so Boromir lowered his hand.

"Dash my knee, dash my head. What's it matter, who makes me dead?" Gollum asked sadly.

As Boromir stared at him, he realized how big the creature's eyes were. And so very blue. For an odd moment, he was reminded of Frodo's eyes. But then the mere thought of comparing Frodo to this twisted being was sickening. Frodo would never become this obsessed with the Ring. He was too strong-willed, they were too close to victory. So very close.

"Come along." Boromir sterned his tone and continued across the staggering rocks to the second cave.

The mouth of the cave was dripping as they approached. Soft pluttering sounds echoed towards them with a hint of regret, as if the drops of water longed to remain in the clouds, but the clouds had moved on without them.

Boromir grabbed Gollum by the bit of rope that bound his wrists and hauled him up the last few steps, pulling him after him into the cave.

"Don't kill us, precious," Gollum pleaded, squirming beneath Boromir's hand. But Boromir ignored his words and drug him further into the cave, where the shadows were deep and dark, and both their forms were silhouetted from the light.

"Too many Orces," Gollum tried. "Too many spies: They sees you creeping in the night. Finds you, they will. You needs Gollum! We knows a safe way!"

Boromir looked down at Gollum with a less than sympathetic expression, holding him still by the rope around his neck. He drew his sword with a swift ease and leveled it at Gollum's chest.

"We swears we will help you," Gollum said, pityingly soft. The end is finally here, he realized. And it was not without fear that he came to that conclusion. His wide blue eyes filled with tears, and his thin lips trembled.

Boromir could almost feel the beating of the creature's heart through his sword's blade, so close was its tip to his chest.

"Be at peace, you wretched creature."

Boromir thrust his sword forward and it tore through flesh and bone to gouge out of Gollum's back. Blood ran red and hot and violently from the holes as Boromir withdrew his blade. Without a sound, Gollum fell over onto his side. He laid there, his lungs spasming, but after a few moments, his eyes turned to glass.

Boromir stepped back so the blood would not coat his boots, and after determining that Gollum had indeed passed, he went to work in concealing the body.

...

Aragorn pressed his thumbs into his eyes. The fire at his feet had died minutes before, but it wasn't the thin smoke that irritated him. A painful pulse thumped beneath his skull, bringing about a nauseous feeling in his gut. His hair was slick and dark with sweat, but he was cold, and shivered desperately.

From where he sat across the cave, Frodo could only see Aragorn's hunched back and slumping head of hair. He wondered what he was thinking about, why he seemed so worried. It made his insides turn bitter. A thick canopy of anxiety spread out away from Aragorn to lay down upon Frodo's shoulders. The Ring bearer shivered, recovered, and stood up. He went to Aragorn and sat at his right side.

Sensing his presense, Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at the little Hobbit with a dog-like expression.

"You swore to protect me," Frodo said, his tone sharp against the blunt misery in the air.

Aragorn stared, uncomprehending.

"How can you, like this?" Frodo looked him up and down. "You're slowing us down. Perhaps I ought to go on alone from here."

"What?" Aragorn frowned. "No, Frodo. It is too dangerous. You cannot face Mordor without our help."

"One is easier to hide. Besides, you're ill and so is Legolas. It would be wrong of me to ask you to come along."

"It- it's not a choice, Frodo," Aragorn reprimanded. "We all-"

"The Ring is my burden," Frodo interupted. "Not yours." He stood up, showing that his mind was set.

But Aragorn was angry.

"Where is this coming from?" He demanded. "You don't speak to me in almost a week, and when at last you do, you wish to sever the Fellowship?"

"I _will not _drag you all to your deaths behind me!"

"Mr Frodo!" Sam appeared and took Frodo by the shoulders. "What's wrong? What's he saying?" He gave Aragorn a nasty look.

Aragorn stood, marvelling at the weakness in his legs, but he did not waiver. He towered purposefully over Frodo and Sam, but they, too, held their ground.

"Frodo wishes to continue on his own," Aragorn said so that all may hear, but staring only into Frodo's eyes.

"What?" Sam was startled.

Merry walked over to listen.

Legolas rested his cheek on the cold cave floor, watching the others.

Aragorn felt like he was swimming rather than standing. A picture of Frodo sank in the water and rippled with black smudges. He rocked on his heels, his feverish mind swallowing up his remaining cognitive thoughts. Sweat ran down his brow and clung to his eyelids, slipping inside and burning whenever he blinked.

"Frodo-" Sam's voice came to Aragorn from outside the cave, a mile away. "You can't go off on your own, I promised Mr Gandalf that-"

Aragorn's vision turned to black, and his ears folded over into a vibrant buzz. His stomach rolled and his body rolled with it. He fell backwards, but was caught beneath the armpits.

"Aragorn," a muted voice cooed in his ear.

His legs folded and he laid on the ground, slowly, gently. A cold hand felt his burning forehead and calmed him enough so that he could open his eyes. Aragorn blinked, wincing, for there was nothing to see. But the blackness faded away and he saw Boromir before him. Aragorn opened his mouth, longing to speak, but he had no words to say. Boromir placed a flask upon his lips, so Aragorn drank.

"What is going on?" Boromir asked the others, glaring at them as though they caused Aragorn's misfortunate state.

"I'm going ahead alone," Frodo said firmly. "I don't care what you say."

"I admire your courage, little one," Borormir said calmly, sensing everyone else's abrasiveness. "But you cannot get passed the Black Gates on your own."

"I'm going to try."

"You needn't be so proud," Boromir pressed. "If you were to fail, Middle Earth would perish."

Frodo hesitated, trying to think of something to say, but Boromir's words rang with truth and silenced his argument.

"I... I don't want anyone else to suffer because of me," Frodo said quietly. He thought of Gollum, knowing that he was put to death strictly on his account.

"'Tis not because of you, Frodo," Boromir told him with a smile. "We all chose to accompany you because we wish to destroy this evil as much as you do. We all understood the risks. And our departure from the Fellowship will only be by death's hand, not your words."

_"Please."_ Frodo hung his head.

His tone made Boromir's heart race, as if something dear was about to be taken from him. He placed his hand on Aragorn's sweaty head, which was in his lap.

"Please just let me go. I'll follow a patrol in and find a path to Mount Doom."

"Yeah? And what will keep them buggers from running you through?" Sam asked heatedly.

"I'll wear a disguise."

"How will you _get_ a disguise?" Sam asked.

Frodo cut his eyes at Sam irritably.

"From a patrol," Merry answered for him.

They looked at Merry curiously, for he hadn't yet spoken. Merry glanced around, shifting his weight uncomfortably, then found his courage and continued.

"Yeah, um..." Merry stood up straighter. "We can go out and throw some rocks at a patrol until a couple of them come after us, then we kill them and take their uniforms. Before the rest of the patrol goes inside, you can catch up and go in with them."

Aragorn sat up from Boromir's lap and stared at Merry. "That is too risky," he said shortly. "What if the whole patrol were to come after us?"

Boromir put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder excitedly. "Then we would be there to hold them off while Frodo went inside."

"We would be a distraction," Legolas spoke up.

They looked at him. Legolas was standing, arms crossed, looking more or less normal, right behind Sam. When everyone looked at him, Legolas stepped forward.

"Yes," Merry agreed.

Frodo aged a hundred years, and lines of worry streaked across his face to prove it. "No, I- I don't like it. You could be kill-"

"Frodo." Boromir grinned at him. "What did I tell you before?"

Frodo lowered his eyes, afraid he might cry.

"Let me go with you, Mr Frodo," Sam offered suddenly. "I can help you."

There was a breathless moment in which nobody spoke. They all waited for Frodo to respond.

"All right," Frodo muttered. "All right, Sam." He looked at Sam meaningfully. "Let's do this."


	54. Chapter 54

They went out quickly into the late afternoon, one by one, trotting down the rocky slope. Their hearts beat loudly, expectantly, as one.

Frodo and Merry led the way with Sam at their heels, then came Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir at the rear.

The rain had soaked up and pinned down the haze and stench and filth of the area, leaving the earth and sky with a crisp, cool, feeling.

But as they rounded the last of the rocks and gorges, the ground turned to sloppy mud. They travelled carefully, hopping from dry patch to stone to dry patch to minimize their footprints.

Behind them the sky swirled with an explosion of beautiful colors. Reds, blues, violets, and everything in between. Fingers of clouds stretched across the colors and took on shades of their own. The earth beneath the sky was dark with the shadows of the coming night, while the horizon was alive with flaming rays of light. It was a gorgeous sight, had it been noticed by the Fellowship.

But they were hell-bent on their journey. They had a purpose, a plan. They were determined. Nothing could stop them now.

Ahead of them was the Black Gates. Beyond that, Mount Doom. There the sky was black with great belches of foul grey smoke, forever leaking from the accursed volcano. The Great Eye scanned the compounds of its enclosure with fiery accuracy, searching for any kind of threat. A sound like thunder rolled, swelled, and roared. The Enemy was awake within its cage, and it hungered for battle.

Frodo approached the edge of a gravelly hill, instinctively crawling on his belly. Sam and Merry flanked him on either side. The Elf and Men joined them, and together they peered at the Black Gates.

An Easterling patrol was in the process of leaving the Gates. A horn was blowing somewhere behind the walls, and the Gate was being held open with massive cords, held taut by imprisoned cave trolls. The patrol marched smartly out of the Gates in perfect procession, their metal boots clanking into the earth. They weilded heavy square shields, spears, and swords. A devilish force, they had no need to be stealthy.

With a cracking whip to provoke them, the trolls turned the wheels to close the Gates once more.

"What now?" Merry asked as the last of the patrol exited the Gates, just before it shut. The Eye of Sauron watched the Black Gates until they were completely shut, then it directed its attention elsewere.

The air was tight with the thunking of boots and clinking of armor. The patrol surveyed their surroundings out of the corners of their eyes, peering through the slits in their helmets, keeping their heads straight and their ranks solid.

"We wait," Boromir said, licking his lips. His training and commanding skills were sparking to life inside of him. He looked at the others in turn. "This patrol is headed out towards the North. Another patrol should be returning soon from the South to report, perhaps within the next hour."

"Might I shoot the stragglers to get their attention?" Legolas asked.

"No," Boromir said. "We don't want all of them to notice us. Once the patrol is halfway through the Gates, we'll start kicking the gravel until they see it. We'll hide behind those boulders, and once they're close enough, we'll strike. The Hobbits will stay hidden until the attack is over, then Frodo and Sam will dress in their uniforms and join the rest of the patrol through the Gates."

"I want to go with you, Frodo," Merry said suddenly.

Instead of arguing, Frodo nodded.

Merry grinned.

"Fine," Boromir said shortly.

"Be warned, Hobbits," Aragorn said. "Once inside, you must not expose yourself or you will be killed. I do not know any secret paths to get to Mount Doom, so as soon as the Gates shut behind you, you're on your own."

"Whatever you do," Boromir put in. "_Do not _bring the Ring out into the open. The Eye will sense its presence and send his servants after you."

Frodo nodded again. He kept his eyes on the departing patrol.

"All will be well," Aragorn said with a note of bitterness. He patted Frodo on the shoulder. "Just be cautious."

Boromir looked over at Aragorn. The fever was still in his eyes. He looked at Legolas and saw that he, too, appeared feverish. We will not survive this fight, he thought regretfully.

Behind them, the setting sun was casting their shadows long and dark, so they crouched back from the hill so the Enemy would not be curious. The ground was damp but rough from the gravel, and sand and grit stuck to their clothes as they sprawled belly-down.

Boromir rested his chin on his crossed arms, staring just over the top of the hill to watch for the next patrol. Aragorn laid down with him, but did not seem interested in keeping a look-out. He laid on his back and rested his head just below Boromir's shoulder blades, as if he were a pillow.

Aragorn sighed, staring up at the darkening sky. The coolness of the wet earth soaked upwards into his clothes, into his very bones. His vision swam with an oily sheen, his head burning, his stomach tight and sour, for his fever had not yet been broken. But he was calm. Now that the sun was slipping away, his eyes were free to stay open without pain from its light. Aragorn closed his eyes anyway, for Boromir's back was surprisingly soft and warm.

Legolas and the Hobbits quietly divided the very last of the food rations and passed them out among themselves. Sam retrieved the two Men's portions and laid them beside Boromir. He tried not to think too much about what they were doing. He went back to Frodo and sat with him to eat.

"Aragorn," Boromir whispered.

"Hm?" Aragorn asked, half-asleep.

"Sam brought us some Elven bread." Boromir turned his head to the other Man. "You should eat some."

"It would be a waste," Aragorn said tiredly. "My stomach would reject it."

Boromir didn't press him. He did not want to disturb him any further, for he rather enjoyed Aragorn's head resting on his back the way it was. Stoically, Boromir returned his eyes to the Black Gates which grew more and more black every minute.

Minutes passes and turned into an hour. Shadows spread out and away and faded into the rapidly-coming night. The Fellowship remained still. The silence was only broken by the faint snapping of whips and the cries of their victims from within the Black Gates.

For a few moments, Samwise fell alseep against Merry's shoulder, but was startled awake when Boromir blurted out in a hushed voice;

"They're coming!"

Aragorn lifted his head but could not see, so he rolled off of Boromir and laid beside him. The sudden motion sprung up a hot, rushing desire to vomit. He squinted his eyes shut against his blistering headache, willing himself to hold it back.

"They're rounding the Southern cliffside," Boromir whispered, pointing with just the tip of his finger so as not to draw attention.

The Hobbits crawled closer so they could see. Legolas had no need to.

Legolas heard before the others, but soon they all could hear the thunderous stomping of hundreds of boots across the rocky ground. It echoed up to them on the hilltop with fearful magnitude. The patrol's shadow was a beast in itself; a rolling, writhing, black serpant that slithered above them on the Black Gates' walls. Faintly, their dull armor glittered in the last violet rays of the night.

They tromped passed the Fellowship without a glance, and the Gates were pulled open for them. The patrol began to file inside.

Boromir's breathing quickened with excitement. "Be prepared," he warned. "Once the-"

A horrid retching sound broke his train of thought. Boromir jerked his head to see Aragorn doubled over on his knees, throwing up right beside him.

A cold sweat clawed at his neck. His eyes flicked back to the patrol. Heads were turning at the sound.

The Hobbits understood, and were stunned into silence. They stared at Boromir helplessly. Legolas wordlessly slipped an arrow onto his bow.

"Aragorn," Boromir whispered desperately, sitting up and seizing him by the shoulder. "You must control yourself- They can hear you!" Boromir held the flask of water out to Aragorn with a trembling hand, but Aragorn ignored it.

"I... I-" Aragorn struggled, his whole body shaking. He smashed his palm to his forehead, as if by sheer will he could keep himself from getting worse. But he hunched over once more and vomitted again, and again, gagging and sputtering on the filthy bile and sickness.

Boromir swallowed dryly and looked back at the Gates. At least twenty dark shadows were drifting towards them, thumping up the gravel hill.

"Frodo." Boromir whirled to face the Hobbits. "Go, quickly. Behind that boulder. Do not show yourselves. If you must, go back to the caves. Now!"

The Hobbits scrambled to their feet and rushed across the cold ground to the boulder Boromir pointed out, which was roughly a hundred yards away.

Boromir knelt in front of Aragorn, caring not that he was kneeling in vomit. He took hold of Aragorn's sweat-drenched head, his heart breaking at the sight of his cracking lips, the helpless way in which he gulped for air.

"_Please_, Aragorn," Boromir begged, kissing the Ranger on his brow. He stood and pulled Aragorn to his feet. "Go with the little ones." Boromir held Aragorn firmly by the shoulders until he was sure he was standing on his own. He released him and gave him a small push towards the Hobbits, who soon vanished in the low light.

Aragorn shook his head dizzily, reaching for his sword hilt but missing every time.

An arrow zipped by Boromir's head and struck something behind him. Boromir turned and saw an Easterling fall backwards, back down the hill, with an arrow protruding from his right eye. The witnesses of the attack began to shout in alarm, banging their weapons against their armor as they charged. The sound of crunching gravel tumbled towards the Fellowship recklessly.

Legolas loosed another arrow and another enemy went down, yet they continued to pour up and over the hill.

Stepping cooly in front of Aragorn, his jaw set with grim determination, Boromir drew his sword and readied his shield, for the patrol was upon them at last.


	55. Chapter 55

With a rushing sound, like fire engulfing a dry field, a viciously bright light flooded the hillside.

Frodo felt it as the Eye of Sauron and groaned, clutching the Ring against his chest. He slipped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the ice-like boulder that concealed him in shadow. Sam put his arm around Frodo for both their comforts, unsure which one of them was shivering. Merry, on all-fours, tilted his head around the boulder to see and was momentarily blinded.

_They'll never make it_, Merry realized, and his courage fell.

The Easterlings had Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas surrounded. Their shapes were dark and quick in the ungodly orange glow of the Eye. Banging metal and steel struck Merry's eardrums like needles. Despite the consistantly falling bodies on the Enemy, it was obvious which side was the loser.

What disturbed Merry the most while he watched was that there were no screams.

But the Hobbits were safe and their wereabouts unsuspected, for the distance between them and the other three Fellowship members was great. And in their rush to the boulder, their cloaks had swept behind them and wiped away their footprints from the gravel. They were indeed safe, but not confortably so.

Aragorn swung wildly, his Ranger's sword beating into the armor around him rather than cleaving it apart. He was keeping the Enemy at bay, barely, whether he meant to or not. At Aragorn's side, Boromir swung the edge of his shield, pulping the eyes behind the helmets, while he stabbed with his sword whatever soft flesh he was able. Legolas had to abandon his bow. Close-range combat required close-range weapons. Back to back with the Men, he used his two small swords to thrust through the Easterling's hearts and throats.

But their luck could not hold forever. The Great Eye watched as his servants pressed forward and beat the pathetic army into submission. They forced them onto their knees, stripping them of their weapons and armor.

Merry ducked back behind the boulder, instantly cold. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see his friends die.

"What's happening?" Sam whispered.

"It's over," Merry said hopelessly. "They lost."

Sam swallowed nervously. He looked at Frodo, but his eyes were rolled back and white. The sight terrified him.

"Frodo?" He cried, shaking him.

Frodo was limp in his arms. Unresponsive. Sam didn't think he was breathing.

_"Frodo!"_

"Sam, shhh!" Merry snapped. "They'll hear you!"

Merry crouched beside Sam and they stared down at Frodo's lifeless body. Sam took Frodo's hand and rubbed it between his own. Suddenly Merry was reminded of Pippin, how he had looked lying on the bed. As if sleeping...

"Oh, Frodo," Merry moaned. _Not you, too._

"Why won't he wake up?" Sam asked. "Snap out of it, Frodo!" He patted him on the cheek, then grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

"Sam, Sam stop." Merry put a weary hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam jerked his head to stare into Merry's eyes. Both pairs were shattering with fear.

...

Boromir raised his chin, staring through a gap of Easterlings to the Eye of Sauron. It growled, staring straight back, speaking in a low voice the acursed foreign words of the Ring, as if anticipating its arrival. The heat and rage in the Eye sent a jolt through Boromir's veins. At his throat a spear was being held, and its black tip dripped with blood. Whose, he did not know. He wondered why the Easterlings had not yet destroyed them.

Five had their weapons pointed at the Fellowship, while seven others gathered together and spoke in indistinguishable whispers. Once they had been subdued, the rest of the patrol had gone inside the Gates, for what kind of a threat was three odd travelers?

Two Easterlings stepped forward with ropes.

Legolas was being tied up, for he wouldn't keep still. It seemed as if he was oblivious to the threat before him. He stared at the Easterlings and spoke to them in Elvish, but they did not respond. Boromir, having no knowledge of Elvish, was silently questioning the Elf's sanity.

On his knees to Boromir's left, Aragorn bobbed unsteadily, his conciousness waivering. He did not speak when Boromir whispered his name. Aragorn smacked weakly at the servants attempting to bind him, as if they were phantoms clouding his vision. The Easterlings grew impatient and struck him with the butt of a sword. He slumped to the ground.

This angered Boromir. With a snarling howl, he smacked aside the spear and jerked the sword from the one that had struck Aragorn. Rising, Boromir amputated three legs from their bodies and punched another in the mouth. He felt his fingers crunch against the helmet's hard metal, but he wasn't about to give up and cry. He kicked one in the chest and sent him tumbling down the hill.

Boromir sensed the Eye's animosity. He glanced passed the Easterlings in time to see the fiery orb narrow with disgust. Pleased with himself, Boromir ripped a spear from an enemy and stabbed it back through him. Twirling in a gorgeous, well-timed circle, Boromir decapitated one as he tried to charge and slashed the throat of another, shredding chainmail.

Boromir seized a fallen body and hurled it at the remaining six. Four were knocked off their feet, and, flailing their arms, they killed the other two with the weapons still clinched in their fists.

Boromir supressed a hysterical laugh. He attacked the four Easterlings as they struggled to regain their balance on the shifting gravel, and swiftly they were defeated. He straightened up boldly, breathing heavily, and glared at the Eye of Sauron defiantly.

The horns were blown, and the Black Gates began to open.

Sauron was sending out an exterminator. Fifty blood-thirsty Uruk-hai.

Boromir rushed back to Legolas and Aragorn and cut their ropes. Legolas surveyed the scene as if he didn't know where he was. Aragorn awakened slowly, blinking at Boromir in a daze.

"Go," Boromir commanded, searching Aragorn's face for comprehension. "You _must_ hurry. Be with the Hobbits."

"Boromir," Aragorn began, but Boromir sharply turned away from him.

He stood on the hilltop and faced the Enemy. Then he lifted his arms to the sky. "Alas, alas!" He wailed. "My comrades have fallen! But _I _shall not join their fate!"

Snatching his sword and shield from the dirt, Boromir sprinted down the hill towards the Black Gates. Just before he reached the Uruk-hai, he took off to the right and headed South. Infuriated, having expected the Man to rush to his death, the Uruk-hai began to roar. They chased after Boromir, not suspecting a thing.

The Black Gates shut after them, and, with the Eye watching, Boromir led the Uruk-hai away from the Fellowship.

...

Once the Eye's burning stare left the area, Frodo gasped and came back to life.

"Frodo!" Sam hugged him blissfully. "You're alive! He's alive!" He told Merry, tears running down his face.

Merry patted Frodo on the back as he coughed.

"Thank goodness," he wept.

Frodo fumbled until he found the Ring, and held it near and dear to his heart.

...

After a few minutes, the growls and shouting faded away. Aragorn and Legolas gathered bits of armor and weaponry and crawled away from the hilltop, then jumped to their feet and ran to the boulder. As much as he desired to, Aragorn didn't let himself look back.


	56. Chapter 56

"Quickly, dress yourselves."

Aragorn tossed a spiked helmet to Sam, who caught it.

"What of Boromir?" Merry asked, taking a breastplate from Legolas while staring at Aragorn.

"He is our diversion. We must act quickly," Aragorn said shortly.

"But..." Merry looked off towards the Black Gates, but the evening had fallen, and all was in shadow.

"It's for the best, that rotter," Sam muttered to himself, thinking no one could hear him. But Aragorn had.

He seized Sam by the front of his clothes and lifted him off the ground, holding him so that they were nearly nose-to-nose.

"How _dare_ you," Aragorn snarled.

"I-I-I meant nothin' by it," Sam sputtered. "I'm sorry, I-I- he was always... Well, I mean, that is..."

Aragorn dropped Sam and turned away in a huff, forcing an Easterling helmet on his head. "He saved our lives at the risk of his own. Be grateful, you wretch."

Merry elbowed Sam, who put on his helmet and hung his head in shame.

"The Eye moves like rain upon the sea," Legolas said softly. "It soaks into everything it strikes."

Aragorn cast a judgemental glare at Legolas. "We will stick to the shadows, and await the next patrol," he told the others.

Soon they were all disguised as Easterlings, and they laid once more upon the now-bloodied hill. The sky was dark and the air was cool. The members were silent, but it was not a peaceful silence.

Aragorn, tense and distraut, kept his head locked forward at the Black Gates. But his body trembled inside, and was warm with a sickening rage._ How dare you flee us, _Aragorn thought spitefully. _You meant it to seem as a sacrifice, but I know better. You poisoned me so that I might fall in battle. You're a traitor. I hope they catch you and torment you. I hope I hear you scream._

Aragorn clasped a hand to his mouth as vomit filled his mouth. Hot, burning, and wretchedly flavored, Aragorn shuddered and forced it back down. He muffled his coughs with his fist, gulping air and saliva.

Legolas patted him on the shoulder, and it only upset Aragorn further. He slipped away from the hill and walked back to the boulder.

The Hobbits watched him go quietly, then turned back to the Gates.

Aragorn went behind the boulder and sat down. He closed his eyes. It was colder in the rock's shadow, but as Aragorn slowed his breathing, a warmth wriggled over and through him. His head thumped in time with his heart with a piercing ache. He thought he might vomit again, but the need didn't quite surface. The gravel bit through his clothes where he sat and the boulder was painful against the back of his head, but these irritants began to mellow away.

"You mean to murder me," he muttered drunkishly. His eyes lolled behind closed lids, and Aragorn drifted away in a restless daze.

_"I could never." _

Startled, Aragorn opened his eyes and Boromir was kneeling before him.

"You are my King, and I am at your service and mercy."

Aragorn looked around. He had just been crowned King of Gondor. The sky was alight with sun shine and clear blue skies. A multitude of different races gathered around, but none of them were showing signs of respect. They held flowers and gifts as if they intended to give them to Aragorn, but none of them moved forward to do so. They simply stared. The Fellowship was there, they being the only people that Aragorn could recognize. But even they were not showing respect. The companions were looking at each other, and not at their new King.

Aragorn looked down.

Boromir was suddenly naked. His clothes and weapons were in a pile at Aragorn's feet.

Aragorn blushed and glanced nervously at the crowd. "Boromir, what are you doing? Get your clothes on!" He hissed, embarressed.

"It is all that I can give you," Boromir told the ground, and his voice trembled as if from weeping. "It is all that I can give you."

"You fool, this is a sacred gathering! You are tainting my ceremony with your blatant mockery!"

Boromir threw himself forward and clutched onto Aragorn's robes, burying his face in the smooth silken fabric. "My Lord, my King! Forgive me, but this is no mockery! This is all that I am. This is all that I can _give!_"

"Release me!" Aragorn swung his hand. He hit Boromir on the head, and the Man was made of dried mud, so he crumbled away.

"Boromir?" Aragorn frowned at the pile of dirt and tapped it with his foot. It stuck to his foot and became mud, and out of the mud crawled an Uruk-hai. Aragorn gasped and backed away, reaching for a weapon but only a horn hung at his side. The creature stepped forward and spoke to him in Elvish.

"I know what you most desire. It is easy for you to obtain. See it there? It is already apart of you." The Uruk-hai pointed to Aragorn's hand, where the Ring glistened on his finger.

Aragorn looked at the Ring and began to sweat. To see the Ring on his finger filled him with a joy he could not describe. He touched it gently, like a hatching egg, careful and delicate and loving.

"Yes," Aragorn said softly.

"Look," the Uruk-hai said, sweeping his arm behind him.

Aragorn looked past the creature and saw Frodo sitting alone on the edge of the gravel hilltop, encased in shadow.

Aragorn glanced at his hand again, and the Ring was no longer there. A dreadfully lonely feeling thumped onto him. He slumped his shoulders.

"It is right there, watiting for you. Ask, and you shall receive."

The Uruk-hai reached down and pulled Aragorn to his feet, straightening him up against the back of the cold boulder. He grinned wickedly, his lips inches from Aragorn's own, then he rippled, and vanished utterly.

Aragorn swallowed dryly. He stepped out from behind the boulder and looked across the way at the Hobbits and the Elf. Frodo was in between Merry and Sam, with Legolas beside Sam. They laid on their bellies, observing the dark Gates before them.

Aragorn walked to them weightlessly, feeling and hearing nothing. He stared at Frodo hungrily. An unconcious smile pulled apart his lips as he pictured the Ring leaving Frodo's neck to become one with his finger. It had felt so wonderful in his dream. Had it been a dream? Perhaps it was a memory. Nothing past seemed important anymore. Only the _now_ was important, and what was about to take place.

"Frodo," Aragorn said.

Four heads turned to look at Aragorn.

"Come with me for a moment," Aragorn gestured back to the boulder, then offered Frodo his hand to help him up.

Frodo took his hand and stood. They walked back to the boulder slowly, and Aragorn couldn't surpress his grin.

...

Boromir followed the Gates until they turned into a rocky mountainside. He was quicker than the Uruk-hai, and he slipped into one of many cracks in the mountain before they could see him.

The rock was cold, wet, and jagged around him. He was blind in the darkness and he fumbled forward as quickly as he could, hearing the echoes of the approaching enemy. The rocks tightened around him and he crouched and kept going deeper, splashing his hands through slime and gouging his knees on splinters of stone.

He bumped his head and could not feel if there was anywhere else to go, so he held still. He turned his head but could see no light from where he had come. It was utterly black. He breathed slowly in the damp darkness, the air tasting of mold and feeling too close. Sweat and dirty water dripped from his body and splished on the damp floor. The sound to him seemed amplified, but he knew the Uruk-hai could not hear it. They were grunting and shouting and banging their armor, it was a wonder they had managed to track him to the mountain.

After a few minutes, the Uruk-hai moved on. Boromir held his breath for a precious few more, then he carefully crawled backwards out of the crevice. He stood and wiped water from his clothes, grimacing at the holes in his flesh where the rocks had pierced him in his haste. He noticed the route the Uruk-hai took leaving. They had continued onwards to find him, so Boromir decided to turn back. He stayed in their heavy footprints as best as he could, running against their tracks back to the Black Gates, and therefore, the Fellowship.

He rounded a corner where the carcass of a giant had been thrown over the wall. It was old and no longer had the scent of rot, but there was still enough dehydrated flesh left on its bones to make a fairly decent ambush point. As he ran by the body, three Uruk-hai jumped him from behind.

Boromir swung wildly and threw two of them off, but the third clung tight. The Uruk-hai bit Boromir on the side of the neck, so Boromir screamed and punched the thing through the eye, momentarily getting his fist stuck in its eye socket. Blood spewed everywhere, and the Uruk-hai dropped from Boromir's back. The other two advanced. Boromir slashed their throats with a quick flash of his blade, then kicked the other one in the back, breaking him. He held a shaking hand to his neck, the blood slithering between his fingers and running down into his shirt. Gasping from the exertion, Boromir walked until he could catch his breath, then he ran.

...

"Frodo, I fear our time of being together is drawing to an end."

Frodo stared at Aragorn with a deeply pained expression.

"We may not survive this, but as long as our quest is completely, then the lives lost will not have been in vain," Frodo said quietly.

"That is very wise, Frodo," Aragorn said, his patience waning. He and Frodo sat facing each other behind the boulder, their legs almost touching, like two children hiding in a fort made of quilts. "But you have not been well as of late," Aragorn pressed. "If you were to fall whilst bearing the Ring, say, while we are sneaking through Sauron's forces, then all of this would have been for nothing. Those lives _will _have been in vain."

Frodo looked away. "I can bear it," he said darkly.

"Frodo, be reasonable. You are small, you are _weak. _All I should be worried about is finding us safe passage once we get through those Gates, not whether or not you're passed out somewhere. You must give the Ring to someone strong enough to see it reach its destiny."

"You are speaking cruelly," Frodo said bitterly. "We are too close to the poisons of this land."

"I am speaking out of concern for all of Middle Earth!" Aragorn snapped. "Why must you be so selfish not to lend the Ring to another? You may have agreed to see its destruction, but so have we all. You need not be the only one to suffer under its weight. You would dare to risk the Ring's safety in your own hands? You can barely walk as it is! Surely you must see that, Frodo."

"The Ring is my burden," Frodo insisted. "It was entrusted to me. No one shall take it from me."

"So I must drag you up the mountain," Aragorn growled. "And risk everyone's lives simply because of your stubbornness? You say the Ring is your burden, but in reality you are ours. You have done nothing but hinder us with your weaknesses. All you do is brood and collapse, then we wait for you to recover. Open your eyes, Frodo. You are no help to us. Give me the Ring, and I will see it destroyed."

Frodo's lips trembled. He hung his head in shame. _Strider, my friend, I hear the hatred in your words, but I also know in my heart that they are true. I am a burden. _Frodo reached down into his shirt and lifted up the chain on which the Ring hung. With watery eyes, Frodo pulled the Ring from the chain and held it out to Aragorn.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said miserably, and Aragorn did not know if Frodo was apologizing to him or to the Ring, but neither did he care. Aragorn reached out and took the Ring.


	57. Chapter 57

With a smattering of cracking whips and the blast of horns, the Black Gates began to open as the Easterling patrol returned. Aragorn and Legolas and the Hobbits waited with bated breaths on the hilltop, waiting for the majority of the patrol to enter the Gates. Wearing the enemies' armor and streaked with the mud their blood had raised upon the earth, the Fellowship was nearly indistinguishable from the patrol.

"This is our last chance," Aragorn said tersely, digging his fingers into the gravel at their bellies. "Once we're in, there is no coming out."

The Hobbits bodded their heads with bitter understanding. Legolas made no acknowledgement, eyes quick and desperate to take in every footfall and arm swing that the Easterlings made in their march.

Sam took Frodo's hand, for Frodo had not stopped shivering since his chat with Aragorn. None of the others knew that Aragorn had taken the Ring from the Halfing, and it was too painful for Frodo to speak about.

_Nerves, is all,_ Sam thought sadly. _But don't worry, Mr. Frodo. I'm here for you. I'll keep you safe._

"We may get separated," Aragorn went on. "But do not fear. You are an Easterling. Walk with confidence and you may go anywhere. Follow the path to the end, at the foot of Mount Doom, but do not go near Sauron's fortress. Legolas saw a broken carriage last time the Gates opened. It was right off the path. We will meet there."

"It is time," Legolas said suddenly.

Everyone stood.

Legolas took the lead, with Merry after him, Frodo and Sam beside each other next, and Aragorn at the rear. They trotted down the gravel hill and mingled in with the last twenty of the patrol, slowing to a steady march.

Inside the Black Gates was a massive campsite of death and despair. They could just see it between the marching Easterlings. The Eye flickered and burned, sweeping its fiery gaze and growling at anything it found to be suspicious. Beyond, so close, yet so far, the great Mount Doom belched great black clouds of eternal smoke into the poisoned dark clouds above. The scent of death was everywhere, as was the cracking of whips, and the screams of those afflicted by it.

Frodo and Sam kept their hands linked tight. They were feeding off of each others' fear, for once they had joined with the Easterlings, friend and foe were one and the same. Legolas and Merry had vanished. Frodo glanced behind him, but could not distinguish Aragorn from the Enemy. _Just keep going,_ he thought, feeling nauseous knowing the Ring was not around his neck. The weight was still there, but the Ring was not. _My precious, _Frodo thought. _We will be together again very soon._ _We will meet at the carriage._ _I promise._

As the Fellowship filed neatly through the Gates with the rest of the patrol, Aragorn did not. He slowed his pace and walked backwards through the Easterlings. The Gates had begun to close, and he stepped outside of them right before they banged shut. _The Ring is mine,_ he thought victoriously.

Suddenly he heard the pounding of gravel and turned rapidly, drawing his sword.

An Easterling had been left behind and he charged to get inside before the Gates closed, but it was too late. He ran into the Black Gates and punched it once with the flat of his fist in frustration.

Aragorn thought it would be best to despatch him, and quickly thrust his sword. But the Easterling dodged and drew his own sword, glancing around as if suspecting an ambush. He kept his back against the Black Gates, and levelled his sword with Aragorn's.

Aragorn wondered what had happened to him for him to have been separated from the others, and noticed blood running down from his neck.

The Easterling attacked fiercely without warning, slashing at Aragorn's neck and stabbing at his armor. Their swords clashed, and Aragorn pressed him back into the wall. There was obvious surprise in the Easterling's eyes, so Aragorn punched him in the side of the helmet. The Easterling took the punch, then ducked under Aragorn's sword and threw his head into Aragorn's stomach, forcing him back and knocking the wind out of him.

Aragorn shuddered and dropped to one knee, unable to breathe, but feeling like he was about to throw up. He looked up at the Easterling dizzily.

"I will not die this day," the Easterling spoke. "Not when we are so close." He pointed the sword at Aragorn's throat.

"Boromir?" Aragorn asked.

The Easterling stared. Suddenly he dropped his weapon and threw off his helmet. It was indeed Boromir. He dropped to his knees before Aragorn.

"Aragorn," he breathed. His hands reached out but he would not touch Aragorn, as if he was afraid to break him. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't know, I... What are you doing out here?" He looked at the Black Gates. "Where are the others?" He looked at Aragorn, a flash of fear crossing his face.

"We were separated," Aragorn said dully.

"Legolas is with them?"

Aragorn nodded.

"I see," Boromir mused. "Come, we will discuss this elseware."

He helped Aragorn to his feet. Aragorn leaned into him more than necessary, and it worried Boromir greatly. Together they walked up the gravel hill back to the boulder.

"Not here," Aragorn grumbled. "Further. Take us back to the caves. Frodo is on his own, now."

Boromir glanced back at the Black Gates wistfully. _Good luck, dear Frodo,_ he thought. Looking ahead with resolve, he hugged tighter onto Aragorn. "We must move swiftly if we are to make it before nightfall," he said gently.

As they walked, Boromir kept hoping Aragorn would ask what had happened to him, demand to know how he had escaped all of those Uruk-hai, but Aragorn never asked.

Soon they made it to the caves and they found the one they had previously occupied. A damp pile of ashes had replaced the small campfire from the night before. Boromir set Aragorn against the rock wall and went back outside to gather some wood for a new fire. He returned and shortly had one blazing nicely.

Boromir then began removing his borrowed armor, and his wet clothes.

"What are you doing?" Aragorn asked from the corner.

"My apologies, but I am soaked," he answered shortly. He took off his shirt with delicacy, wincing as he pulled it over his head. Blood began to seep from his neck bite, so Boromir wadded up the filthy shirt and pressed it against his neck. He sat in front of the fire and closed his eyes, tilting his head to help hold the shirt in place.

Aragorn swallowed and carefully pulled the Ring out into the open. He set it gently in his palm and gazed at it. It made him smile. He rubbed it with the tip of his finger, admiring the smooth gold, and the power it concealed. The chain link trickled through his fingers and dangled, chiming sweetly as it swayed. Aragorn gazed at the beautiful gold, seeing himself reflected back, but seeing much more. Seeing himself weild a position of true power. Not just a king of Gondor, but the true and indisputable Lord, King, and God of all Middle Earth!

"What have you got there?" Boromir asked.

Aragorn's attention snapped back. He flashed up his eyes and saw Boromir's cool grey ones staring at him, ablaze from the dancing fire.

"Nothing, it's mine," Aragorn growled. He looked down into his lap, placing the Ring on his crotch. _Should've killed him when I had the chance,_ Aragorn thought hatefully, refusing to acknowledge that he had been the one at Boromir's mercy.

Boromir stood up and walked over to Aragorn, where the cave was considerably colder.

"Get away from me!" Aragorn ordered, shrinking. "I- I am unwell. I do not wish for you to catch my illness."

"Let me catch it." Boromir sat down beside Aragorn calmly. "I am glad we can have these moments together," he said with a sigh. Keeping the shirt against his neck, he gazed across the cave, watching the small fire leak smoke, and the cave's draft pull it outside.

Aragorn put his hands down on his crotch to conceal the Ring, feeling grumpy. He scowled over at Boromir, then settled down enough to examine him. Small puncture marks dotted his body, and were crusted over with blood. Many, many scars on top of scars striped along his chest and back. Blood dried on his bare chest, and more trickles of it ran down fresh.

"When did that happen?" Aragorn asked.

Boromir looked at Aragorn, then down at himself as if uncertain what wound Aragorn was referring to. "My neck?" Boromir asked at last. "Oh, three hours ago, perhaps."

"And it hasn't stopped bleeding?"

Boromir didn't answer, looking straight.

Aragorn stood up on his knees. "Let me have a look," he offered. He walked on his knees towards Boromir, forgetting momentarily about the Ring in his lap. It dropped heavily to the cave floor, rattling the chain after it.

Aragorn's heart stopped.

Boromir looked down and saw the Ring. With a gasp, he jumped to his feet.

"Aragorn!" He cried. "What is this?"

Aragorn was too proud to hide it anymore. He scouped the Ring into his hand and stood up, facing Boromir defiantly. "It's the One Ring." He said wickedly.

"Aragorn, but..." Boromir jerked his head and stared out of the cave, as if he could see the Halfings and the Elf tiptoeing through Sauron's camp. "But the little ones- what are they doing? What are _you_ doing?" He clawed back his hair in a restless manner.

"I'm keeping it." Aragorn lifted his chin. He drew his sword as if to prove a point.

Boromir dropped his face into his hands. "You stole it from him, didn't you? You tricked them, now they are going to die in there."

"Frodo was not strong enough to weild its power. I am, and so I shall."

"Aragorn." Boromir shook his head. "You said it yourself. You know the Ring cannot be weilded!"

"Not by _you _or_ your people!_" Aragorn snarled. "You are weak, Frodo was weak_. I _am strong,_ I _shall weild it, and _I_ shall rule over all of Middle Earth!"

"My friend," Boromir said gently. "You have been misguided. Please, let me help you." He took a step towards Aragorn bravely.

"You stay away!" Aragorn pulled out the Ring and held it up, ready to thrust onto his finger. "Or I will use this to defeat you!"

"I am already defeated," Boromir said weakly. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head at Aragorn's feet. "I am at your mercy."

Aragorn hesitated. A powerfully strange feeling came over him, like he knew what was going to happen next, although nothing like this had ever happened before in his life. He looked down as Boromir began kissing his filthy shoes.

Aragorn swallowed. His voice was much smaller than he intended it to be. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Worshipping you, my King," Boromir answered. With eyes closed, Boromir kissed Aragorn's shoes, then kissed up his left leg.

Aragorn's eyes rolled. He began to tingle, and a nearly-forgotten feeling of bliss and warmth rose up inside of him. He untied his pants and let them fall to his ankles, and Boromir unhesitantly began loving on his inner thigh, right at the edge of his underwear, suckling the soft, tender skin, twirling the coarse hairs with his tongue.

"You're a fool if... if you think this will get you my Ring," Aragorn muttered, wincing against the pleasure that pulsed inside his manhood.

"I will not ask for that which you do not wish to give," Boromir whispered. He stood up, facing Aragorn with steel in his eyes. He cupped his hand around Aragorn's penis through his underwear, and gave it a light squeeze.

Aragorn shuddered and Boromir smiled.

"Kiss me," Aragorn groaned, closing his eyes.

Boromir ablidged, touching Aragorn's cheek gently and tilting his head to match his lips. He kissed him passionately, keeping one hand still on Aragorn's crotch. He loved feeling it swell with pleasure. Boromir kissed him tenderly on the lips, the cheek, the nose, bathing in his rustic taste and smell and feel.

Aragorn wrapped his arms around Boromir's back, dropping his sword from one hand and balling the Ring in his other fist. Boromir's back was warm and slippery with blood. The bloodied shirt was somewhere on the floor, and so his neck was free to bleed in the open.

Aragorn pushed his tongue into Boromir's mouth, and Boromir pushed his hand into Aragorn's underwear, and grasped onto his penis. Aragorn's eyes flew open and met Boromir's. There was an expression in Boromir's eyes that made Aragorn's passion falter. Boromir caught the expression reflected in Aragorn's eyes, and removed his hand from Aragorn's privates as if caught doing something inaproppriate.

They stared at each other, and slowly Aragorn unwound his hands from around the other Man's back, then swiftly pulled his pants up and tied them.

_Apologize,_ Aragorn told Boromir mentally, but Boromir said nothing. Aragorn looked down at his hands, and they were rust red with Boromir's blood. The Ring in his fist was coated. He flexed his fingers, watching the small drops of blood collect as one.

"What happened to you?" Aragorn asked after a moment of utter silence. He lifted his eyes to meet Boromir's, only to see him slipping back down to his knees.

"An Easterling bit me," Boromir replied wearily. He slumped his shoulders and hung his head.

Aragorn placed his hand on Boromir's head. His hair was slick with sweat.

"You are in pain," Aragorn said, his tone flat.

Boromir kept his head down. Aragorn felt him trembling.

"_Please,_ Aragorn," Boromir whispered at last. "You have fought it before, you can do it again. Don't let this evil consume you. You are so _much_ better than this."

Aragorn knelt in front of Boromir, his stomach twisted with a cold, gritty feeling. He placed the Ring on the ground between them. Leaning forward, Aragorn examined Boromir's neck, where blood continued to run out, some down his chest, but most of it down his back. It began making small puddles in the floor, dripping out of tune to the small crackling fire behind him.

The wound was not deep, but it was serious. A main vessel had been broken. So much had been lost.

Aragorn touched Boromir's chin, lifting his head so their eyes could meet. Boromir's eyes were full of tears, and Aragorn's heart lurched.

"Frodo," Boromir whimpered, shivering. "Sam- th-they are on a hopeless path. It is not right for them to suffer. You are strong enough to save them. I _know_ you are." Boromir smiled sadly and rested his palm on Aragorn's cheek. "You do not need the Enemy's trinket to be full of power. It is in here." Boromir lowered his hand and touched Aragorn's chest. "I have faith in you."

Aragorn looked down at the hand touching him, and marvelled at its trembling. His eye caught a glint of gold, and he looked at the Ring on the ground. The blood had dripped away from the Ring and formed a red circle around it.

He picked up the Ring and stood. Boromir waivered and slapped a hand to the floor to keep himself steady. He lifted his head and watched Aragorn helplessly.

"I have said it before, Boromir," Aragorn said, staring off into the distance at an impossible future. "You are weak."

"If it be so," Boromir said, forcing himself to stand. "Then it is you who gives me strength. I am here, only for you. If for myself, then I would have died a long time ago. But because of you I am unafraid, willing to face any obstacle."

"Then you are a fool."

"A fool in love." Boromir stepped forward.

Aragorn scoffed and looked away, then at the Ring in his hand. It called to him in the sweetest of voices, warmed his palm with the gentlest of rays. He wanted nothing more than to take it and run. But from whom would he be running?

Aragorn turned to Boromir, and suddenly Boromir was in front of him. Aragorn flinched, opening his mouth to protest, but Boromir fell into him and hugged him. Hot tears and blood soaked into Aragorn's clothes as Boromir began sobbing against him.

Aragorn put his arms around him wordlessly. _You are indeed a fool,_ he thought.

"I... I only wish," Boromir whimpered, clutching tightly onto Aragorn's armor. "Th-that I could have been there to see you crowned, my precious King."

Aragorn's heart raced in his chest. Such a desperate feeling whelled inside of him. A million tiny hands pulling him from all sides. Tears dripped from his eyes.

"One day, perhaps, you will," Aragorn said.

He pushed Boromir to his knees and seized a flaming stick from the fire, and stabbed it into Boromir's wound. The Man cried out, but Aragorn slapped his hand on Boromir's mouth. Their eyes met and locked. Sweat ran down Boromir's face, but he kept his eyes on Aragorn's and did not struggle against him. Once the wound had been seared shut, Aragorn tossed the stick away and hurried out of the cave and into the dark, forboding night. Boromir fell over onto his side and cried silent, anguished tears.


	58. Chapter 58

All was in darkness. The air was startlingly cold. Eyes flickered and glinted in patchwork firelight, the suspicious eyes of the enemy.

The Easterlings in the Fellowship's group filed smartly towards the fortress of Sauron. The Hobbits followed the Elf, grateful for him to be so much taller than them. He was easy to spot despite his disguise, and Frodo especially hoped none of the Easterlings would find him so easily. They wound up a muddy, foot-trampled path between tents and small, crackling fires, before which sat Orcs and Uruk-hai eating massive chunks of barely-cooked flesh. As Frodo watched, they bit into the meat and juices dripped down from their chins, the juices dark like blood.

After a few minutes, they came upon the fallen carriage that Aragorn had spoken of. Legolas slipped off the path and the Hobbits followed suit as he went around behind it. Legolas looked down at the Hobbits as they gathered in front of him. His eyes rose over their heads as he scanned the still-marching Easterlings.

"Any sign of Aragorn?" Legolas asked the Hobbits quietly.

Merry and Sam shook their heads. Frodo turned around.

Dropping his helmet to the ground, Frodo crouched low and peeked through the carriage wreckage, but the light was too poor. The shadows thrown by the torches and small fires only made individuals more difficult to distinguish. His heart began to beat irratically. _What if he was captured? _His stomach clenched and his vision waivered. _What if he wasn't strong enough after all?_ Frodo sat down on the cold earth and rested his forehead against the splintered wood of the carriage. He regretted relinquishing the Ring to that Man.

Legolas kept his eyes sharp and searched for Aragorn through the darkness, but his heart too began to falter as the minutes ticked away.

"We will be discovered if we linger much longer. We will give him a few more minutes, but then we must move on."

Merry nodded grimly. But Sam looked over at Frodo and grew terribly afraid of his expression.

"Frodo?" Sam whispered. He slid closer to him across the mud, and gently touched his leg when he did not respond.

Frodo looked at Sam, his lips trembling and his eyes swallowed by the blackness in his heart. Dim firelight lit and cast his face in gruesome, destorting shadows.

Sam swallowed fearfully, but he could not help but ask. "What's wrong, Frodo?"

"I..." But Frodo looked away.

"We're almost there, Frodo," Merry said, forcing a cheerful tone in his desperate whisper. "Just a bit further." He patted Frodo on the back, and it felt wrong to do so. Merry withdrew his hand uncertainly. Frodo's back was cold, bony, and hard. It had felt like he was patting the body of someone that had died a long time ago.

Sam gave Merry a dirty look, and Merry recoiled with silent surprise.

Frodo put his helmet back on.

The Easterlings went on by, and Legolas straightened up.

"Come," he extended a hand to the Hobbits. "Enough time has been spent. We must climb the mountain and destroy the Ring."

Merry took Legolas's hand, and Sam stood and offered Frodo his.

"I can't," Frodo told the dirt.

"We're here for you, Frodo," Sam began hopefully. "You can-"

"No, Sam!" Frodo snapped. "I _can't._"

"Frodo?" Merry said hesitantly.

Legolas and Sam stared.

"I don't have it," Frodo said at last. "Aragorn... took it from me."

_"What?" _Sam hissed, dropping to the dirt beside Frodo.

Legolas jumped up onto the carriage to get a better view, but the Easterlings they had been grouped with had already vanished inside the fortress, and there was no sign of another patrol on the way. He hopped back down and gestured for the three Hobbits to gather around.

"Stay here," he told them seriously. "Hide under the tarp. I will find him."

The Hobbits crawled under the carriage and jerked the torn tarp over themselves. Through a small tear in the fabric, they watched the Elf slip back up the path and vanish into the darkness.

...

Aragorn climbed down the jagged, eternally-damp rocks away from the cave. He picked his way carefully, for it was night time and the haze in the air offered no expection to moonlight. He was doing just fine, until his foot slipped between a rock as he stepped, and he pitched forward onto more rocks. Luckily he caught himself, but the unnatural motion twisted his ankle, and snapped something inside of it.

He muffled his screams by distraction, punching his fist into the stones around him. His breath hissed between his feverishly clenched teeth, and he shook his head angrily as pained tears rolled down his cheeks. He shoved himself upright and pulled his leg out of the rocks, feeling the bones roll and grind inside his foot. The pain was nauseating, but he couldn't let it get to him now. Aragorn tightened his boot and forced himself to stand.

Limping made travel much more slow. It was a few hours before he came to the gravelly slope where he and the Fellowship had first donned the Enemy's armor. The path behind him was exaggerated and reckless, but he was beyond caring about leaving a trail. The dead Easterlings they had slain still sprawled bloody and stiff on the hillside. Aragorn studied them for a moment and double-checked his own appearance in comparision and adjusted his uniform accordingly.

He looked towards the Black Gates. He gazed at it for a moment, then he laid down_. I will wait for the next patrol, _he thought, and hoped it would not be too late.

Suddenly a shrill cry broke the silence of night, and with a furious rush of air and the beating of wings, a Fell Rider swooped overhead. It was a shadow, a dark blur against the even darker clouds. Aragorn kept himself still, as if dead, but watched with marvelling eyes as the hideous creature began circling the compounds of Mordor before vanishing behind the towering fortress.

For a few seconds afterwards, Aragorn could still hear the demon's cry echoing in his ears. But at last it faded away, and Aragorn was left with his thoughts.

_Frodo_, he thought, feeling weak. _I cannot imagine the suffering you must be feeling. I swear I will make things right again. _He looked down at his hands and saw the Ring glittering from between his fingers. He opened his palm and smiled sweetly down at the gold. It seemed to Aragorn that the bit of gold in his hand was the only source of light and warmth in the cold and darkness. he closed his fingers to keep it safe.

An hour passed. No movement at the Gates. Aragorn grew anxious, but did not stir from the gravel. _All will be well,_ he thought, _just have patience._ Then he thought of Frodo waiting for him at the carriage. A small group of Easterlings out of formation was suspicious. They would be investigated, perhaps they would be forced to separate from one another. They would struggle and be discovered. They would be slaughtered. And for what? Aragorn gritted his teeth.

Boromir joined him with little commotion, the gravel barely shifting beneath him as he laid down beside Aragorn. For a reason he could not explain, Aragorn was not at all startled by his sudden appearance, and accepted him quietly. He closed his eyes briefly as his body soaked in the warmth of Boromir's own.

Boromir took a breath and spoke without looking at Aragorn.

"Your plan is as before, correct?" His words were taut and thin.

Aragorn nodded. "Await the patrol."

"It is sound, but there is no time for waiting," Boromir told him gently. "You must know this."

"Of course, but what am I to do?" Aragorn growled.

"Be an Easterling. I will get the gates to open."

Aragorn looked at Boromir, who stood up. It was impossible to see his features in the darkness.

"What do you mean?" Aragorn remained on the gravel, though it suddenly felt much colder.

"Wait near the Gates, and fall in rank with the Easterlings that come out. It will not take them long to defeat me, then they will retreat back inside. You will then be able to find Frodo and the others."

Boromir's voice was distant, and Aragorn realized it was because Boromir would not look at him, not even in the dark.

"You will come with me," Aragorn said, standing up.

"There isn't time," Boromir shook his head. "We cannot wait for the next patrol."

"There must be another way," Aragorn snarled.

"There isn't _time_," Boromir repeated, his voice cracking. "Do as I say, and wait by the Gates. If there is a way, I will find it and join you."

"Fine," Aragorn said at length. He turned and began to limp down the hill towards the Black Gates.

"Aragorn," Boromir's change in tone made Aragorn freeze.

"What is it?"

"You're wounded," Boromir said, and moved towards him.

"I broke my ankle, it is not terrible."

Boromir reached out in the dark and found Aragorn's chest, then helmet. He took off the helmet and held it off to the side, then kissed him once.

"Don't let it hinder you," Boromir whispered, his lips brushing the other Man's.

Aragorn snatched the helmet back and put it on. "I won't," he said shortly. He stumbled down the hill, rustling gravel and wincing at each painful, twisting step.

Boromir watched him until his figure melted into the blackness of the Gates. He stepped back and postioned himself like a soldier on the hillside. He removed his armor, for it was the Enemy's and he did not want to arouse suspicious within the camp, and stood on the hill in his underpants.

_They will think me mad, and dispatch me quickly, _he thought bitterly. Trembling, he raised his sword to the sky.

Aragorn went around the wall just out of view of the Black Gates, and pressed his back against it. Faintly he could see Boromir's figure outlined in the blackness, standing atop the hill like the proudest of statues.

"There was never a more noble Man than you, dear Boromir," Aragorn said softly, and hung his head in shame.


End file.
